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"Nothing."
"That's bollocks. I'm not blind, deaf, or stupid. Something happened, and you've been behaving oddly ever since."
He grunts.
"Use your words, Callum." I turn toward him, resting my arm on the sofa's back. "I can't translate grunts and huffs into meaningful syllables."
"Donnae want to talk about it."
"Ah, so there is something to talk about, then."
He throws me a sideways glare. "Leave a body alone, Hugh."
"That's the second time you've said those words. Repetition is a definite sign of something being off."
Callum growls. I am not exaggerating. He actually growls, like a wild animal. I've never heard anyone make a sound like that.
"Might as well confess," I say. "You know I'll get the truth out of you sooner or later."
"Aye, you're a bloody-mindedcacan."
"Call me whatever names you like. It won't help." I jump up and grab his arm, trying to haul him off the sofa. "Get up. We are going out for breakfast, then we'll find something to do other than watching the telly. This is not optional. Get off your arse and come with me now."
He makes an annoyed face.
I pull on his arm hard. "Off your arse. Now."
Callum finally stands, though he flashes me another irritated look.
But he does follow me out of the apartment.
Neither of us knows Inverness very well, so I drive us around in a fashion that might seem sort of…aimless. But no, I have an aim—to find a place where we can get breakfast.
"Why donnae ye use that map thing on your mobile," Callum says, and naturally, he sounds grumpy. "Driving down every street in Inverness until we stumble onto a restaurant is not my idea of a good time. I'm starving."
"It's an adventure. Where's the fun in looking things up and knowing precisely where you're going?"
He grunts. "You're a bloody annoyingbod ceann."
Ah, the Scottish insults have begun. Fortunately, I spot a cafe up ahead, so Callum stops griping about my driving. He orders enough food to satisfy an entire football team after a grueling match. And he eats most of it. Is that stress eating? I need to convince him to tell me what in the name of heaven is going on, but I can't seem to get through to the stubborn Scot. I need to put on my detective hat and puzzle out the answers on my own. Yes, that's right, I am a detective. Maybe I've never actually tried to solve any mysteries, and maybe I have no training in how to do that, but I have one thing on my side. I'm a bloody-mindedbod ceann.
Callum threatens to "make a run for it" if I don't drive him back to the apartment after we finish our meal. I give in. For now.
But I have a plan.
Callum plants his arse on the sofa and turns on the telly. I inform him I will go for a walk on my own. And of course, he grunts. My "walk" consists of me trotting across the street to sit on a bench along the River Ness.
To ring Kate.
She answers on the third ring, sounding sleepy.
"Kate, darling," I say, "it's Hugh Parrish. How are you this morning?"
"Hugh?"
"Yes, it's me." I said that already, but she still sounds not fully awake. "Did I rouse you from a steamy dream?"
Silence. For three seconds. Yes, I counted.
