Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (2 page)

Sarah shook her head. "Whatever," she said. She spun Beth around and started playing with her, pointedly ignoring Mark.

Mark dialled the hotel and the phone was answered by a lispy male voice, giving the name Harris.

"I'm looking for a Kay McGregor," said Mark. "Is she staying there?"

"Yes," said Harris. "She's checked in here."

"Can you put me through to her?" asked Mark.

"I'm afraid that she's not in just now," said Harris.

Mark swallowed hard. "When did you last see her?" he asked.

"Not since yesterday," said Harris. "She left her key here at reception then went out for the evening."

"She wasn't checking out?" asked Mark.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Harris.

"Could she have checked out?" asked Mark.

"She could have absconded, I suppose," said Harris, "but she's left a laptop and what have you. It would be very odd."

Mark breathed a selfish sigh of relief - he might be able to obtain some useful information from her laptop. "Do you have any empty rooms?" he asked.

"We do this week," said Harris. "We've got our annual ceilidh next week, so it tends to get busy, but we have capacity for now. I'm keeping Ms McGregor's room open for the time being. It's not unusual for guests to go away for a couple of days at a time."

Mark thanked him and ended the call. He tried to think quickly. There was nothing else for it - he needed to get up there.

Mark looked over at Sarah, who returned his gaze with a fierce scowl. "I'm going to have to go," he said. "Her laptop is there, I might be able to get something off it. Besides, I've got a load of desk work I can do on the train. I've got to meet the draft deadline."

"I need you here," said Sarah.

Mark took another deep breath. "I know you do," he said. "But I need to get this book published. It's doing my head in. Besides, the end of the mortgage payment holiday is getting close."

Before Sarah could speak, Mark was dialling Lady Ruthven again.

"That was swift," said Elizabeth, sounding bright.

"I'll get a train up this afternoon," said Mark, knowing that borrowing the car would be out of the question. Unlocking his laptop on the table, he checked train times while he spoke. "Where's the nearest train station?" he asked.

"Kinbrace," said Elizabeth.

He put it into a rail booking website. There was a train from Waverley at 13.36, getting in to Kinbrace at 20.49, with an hour in Inverness. "It's quicker to get to London from Edinburgh," he said.

"Well, yes," said Elizabeth. "What time does your train arrive? Is it just before nine?"

"Ten to," said Mark.

"Fine," said Elizabeth. "I'll get my butler, Ivor, to meet you and bring you here."

"Thanks," said Mark. He looked across at Sarah. "I was going to bring my bike, would that be a problem?"

"Is it a push bike?" asked Elizabeth.

Mark almost laughed at the archaic terminology. "Yes," he said. "It's a push bike. A folding one."

"That should be fine," said Elizabeth. "I look forward to meeting you."

Mark put the phone on the table and shut the laptop screen. He checked his watch - just over three hours till the train left Waverley.

"So, that's it, then?" asked Sarah. "You're just going to leave me here with the monster baby?"

"Sarah, I've got no choice," said Mark. "I need to get this done."

"You were going to take the car to the garage tomorrow," said Sarah. "The fuel gauge is still not working."

"I'll do it when I get back," said Mark.

"You were supposed to do it last week!" shouted Sarah.

Mark looked at his gurgling daughter. "Not in front of Beth," he said.

Sarah shook her head. "I can't believe you're doing this to me," she said.

Mark went over to sit alongside her on the sofa. He tried to hold her hand, but she flinched. He put his arm around her, trying to comfort her.

"Don't touch me!" she said. "After what you've just said, you're not getting anything."

"Sorry," said Mark.

His head slumped down - it had been a long time since they'd had sex. They'd been busy with Beth and everything, but… He wasn't the most amorous of men - he barely had a libido - but he did need some sort of affection.

"Stop apologising," said Sarah. "Just do something. Can you take the car in before you go?"

Mark shook his head. "I've no time," he said. "I've got to pack up and get to Waverley by half one. In fact, earlier - I need to get a ticket."

"Don't even think about asking for a lift," said Sarah.

Mark moved around his room, trying to get enough reception to make the call. Kay's phone was still off, no answer.

There was nothing for it - he dialled another number, answered quickly.

"Mrs McGregor?" he asked. "It's Mark Campbell. I work with your daughter."

"Is she all right?" asked Kay's mother, sounding concerned.

"Well, that's the thing," said Mark. "I haven't heard from her in a while. She's been working for me in the Highlands for a few weeks and she's missed a couple of meetings. I've travelled up to see what's happened."

"Sounds like my Kay," said Kay's mother. "She's a flighty soul."

"It's been three days, though," said Mark.

"That's nothing," said Kay's mother. "She's been out of touch for weeks before. I used to skelp her behind when she'd get back, but it had no effect on her."

"So, you think it's nothing to worry about?" asked Mark.

"Well, if her car's gone, then she's fine," said Kay's mother.

Car?

Mark hadn't thought to check - he must have assumed that she'd do what he'd been doing and cycle. Now that he thought about it, it was quite odd and unique. Most people would have driven rather than contend with the vagaries of the Far North Line.

"Sorry," said Mark. "I didn't know that she had a car."

"Of course she does," said Kay's mother. "How else do you think she manages all her gallivanting?"

"What kind of car is it?" asked Mark.

"It's an old Ford Fiesta," said Kay's mother. She gave Mark the registration number, though he doubted that there were that many purple S-reg Fiestas left in Scotland, let alone the Highlands north of Inverness.

"Can I ask you to give me a call if she turns up?" asked Mark.

"Why, of course," said Kay's mother.

Mark gave her his mobile number and ended the call, pocketing his phone as he raced to the window. Looking across the car park at the back of the hotel, he spotted a couple of cars but certainly no Fiesta.

He went down to the reception area. A couple of young women stood at the desk, looking bored while Harris fussed around with his ledger. Mark waited patiently as they checked in, struggling to tell them apart. They were maybe sisters, both with long blonde hair, probably Scandinavian.

"Now, Mr Campbell," said Harris, "how can I help?"

"Did Kay have a car parked here?" asked Mark.

Harris frowned. He reached down and retrieved another ledger and flicked through it. "Why yes," he said. "A Ford Fiesta, I believe."

"Is it still here?" asked Mark.

Harris shook his head vigourously. "No," he said. "I'm afraid not. I do a check every evening of the car park to make sure that there's nothing illegally parked. Ms McGregor's car has been gone since she has."

Mark breathed a sigh of relief. As difficult as Beth's first six months had been, he would rather die than have anything happen to her. At least it didn't look like Kay's parents would have to go through that.

He thanked Harris and headed back up to his room, conscious that his appointment with Elizabeth was looming.

Mark got off the train in Inverness just after five, tired after four hours of hammering the keyboard, cutting and pasting, and frustration at not feeling much further forward.

As he tied his bike to a rack, he realised that he was looking forward to getting some good cycling - he'd barely broken the folding bike in. He'd checked a map on the way up and there looked like a few good routes.

With an hour to kill, he could get half-cut in the station bar or go for a wander round town.

Walking past the entrance to a Victorian shopping arcade, he felt a slight spring in his step. He looked around the street - it was full of standard high street shops, but those in the arcade looked interesting. Book and comic shops. There was a large A-Team-style van parked just along a bit - the logo said that it belonged to an Esoterica shop. Mark had no idea what one of those was.

After the head-biting from Sarah, she'd calmed down and they'd managed to have some quality family time before he'd packed up all of his work papers and filled a rucksack in record time. Christ knew what he'd forgotten, but he'd just have to lump it. There were no shops within a thirty mile radius of Ruthven village, at the very least.

He passed a strange-looking shop a few doors into the arcade -
Avartagh's Esoterica
was written above the door in an arcane typeface, like something out of the first edition of the Bible. The windows were obscured by bookcases, letting in very little light. Mark could rarely resist a rummage around a bookshop, but this looked a bit new age for his tastes so he continued down the arcade, passing two
Holland & Barrett
health food clones.

There were a couple of cafes that Mark didn't fancy the look of. At the far end, he saw a tempting second-hand bookshop, though Mark was trying to migrate onto his eReader. He frowned, recognising the name above the comic shop next to it -
Buffy's World
.

Could it be?

He looked through the window. It
was
him. Buffy. Alan McKay. An old mate from university - he'd moved back to Inverness after graduation, and they'd lost touch.

Mark burst into the shop, grinning widely. Buffy frowned at him as he approached the counter.

"Buffy," said Mark. "How's it going, mate?"

Buffy's expression deepened. "Mark?" he eventually said. "Bloody hell, haven't seen you in years."

"Not since my wedding," said Mark. "What have you been up to, mate?"

Buffy shrugged. "I bought this place," he said. "Been pretty busy ever since."

"Really?" asked Mark, looking around. The shop was empty, except for the two of them. "You don't look busy."

Buffy laughed. "It's just after five on a Tuesday," he said.

"How's business?" asked Mark.

"Good," said Buffy. "We're busy on a Thursday when the new issues come out and over the weekend, but pretty dead Monday to Wednesday. Got to do a stock take soon so I can tell my accountant how much additional debt I've accrued this quarter. Been putting it off for weeks."

Mark laughed.

"You want a beer?" asked Buffy.

"I'm waiting for a train north to Kinbrace," said Mark, "so, I'd better not, otherwise I'll get drunk and miss my connection. There are only three trains a day and that's the last one."

Buffy held up two cans of lager. "I've got some right here," he said.

"Yeah, okay," said Mark, "but just the one."

Mark sat down on a bar stool by the counter and looked around the shop. It was reasonably small but every cubic centimetre was filled with comics paraphernalia - posters of Batman and the X-Men plus a few, more obscure, horror titles.

"I remember you saying something about comics on my stag," said Mark, opening his can, "but I'm impressed with this. Well done."

"Yeah, well," said Buffy, "it's been tough. Had to save for years, working in a call centre and staying with my folks. Wish I'd never gone to uni, I tell you."

"I enjoyed it," said Mark.

"Aye, but you were studying history," said Buffy. "You were good at it - you're a PhD now, man. I was doing maths. It was a nightmare."

Mark grinned. "Are you saying history is easy?" he asked.

"No," said Buffy with a grimace, "but it's interesting. Maths was just hell."

"It's going well here, though, right?" asked Mark.

Buffy nodded his head vigourously. "Couldn't complain," he said. "I've got a Saturday boy who helps out. I'm the only seller in the Highlands, so I've pretty much got the market cornered. I've got four hundred regular customers but I've got to hold stock for them for weeks at a time." He pointed at a rack just in front of Mark. "I've started selling some Scottish comics as well. Quite a burgeoning market for it, especially the horror stuff."

Mark picked up a couple of issues, black and white but with high production values. One of them had a picture of a female vampire on it, the logo in the corner read
Lord Protector Comics
. It was tastefully done - usually, they'd have a scantily-clad voluptuous vampire with a heaving bosom. "How much is this one?" he asked.

"Three quid," said Buffy.

"I can see how you can afford to drink cans of premium lager at work," said Mark.

"Got massive overheads," said Buffy. "It's not cheap running a shop, I tell you." He took a big swig of beer. "You still read comics?"

"Just the occasional
Batman
graphic novel," said Mark. "Not really got the time."

"You were into
Blade
, weren't you?" asked Buffy.

"Aye," said Mark, nodding. He'd enjoyed the films, certainly, but never really got into the comics much.

"Got a few of the original trades he was in," said Buffy. "
Tomb of Dracula
. They're reprints of the original seventies ones, second hand, so I can do you a deal for the first three."

Mark laughed. "Persistent, aren't you?" he asked. "All right, I'll take them plus this," he said, holding up the local comic.

"Good choice," said Buffy, as he wrapped them up in Mylar bags. "Twenty quid."

"Bargain," said Mark, aware that Sarah would kill him for buying them.

"That's done by a local guy," said Buffy. "Séan Avartagh. Owns that Esoterica shop just down the arcade."

Mark nodded. "I saw it on my way through," he said. "What is esoterica? It's not porn, is it?"

Buffy laughed as he handed the bag over. "It's lots of stuff," he said. "Supernatural things and so on. Books mostly." He nodded at the comic. "He writes and draws that. Some boy out in Beauly prints it for him."