“Nope. Still me,” she insisted, then she pinched her cheek and pulled it, as if trying to prove it wasn’t a mask. “See?”
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest before he could ask anything more. Or perhaps just to hide her face because she knew that he would.
“You seem stressed,” he said.
Not quite a question then, but close enough.
“Oh, you know me. Work, work, work,” Shona said. Her eyes fell on the perfect excuse to change the subject. “Flowers! You brought flowers? Jack Logan, I’ll make a romantic of you yet.”
“I just got them in the shop in the foyer,” Logan explained. “They were discounted since they’re wilting a bit.”
“OK, so maybe not one of the all-time great romantics, but still,” Shona said. She withdrew her arms and picked up the bouquet. “They’re lovely. Thanks.”
Logan cleared his throat and nodded, finding himself on unfamiliar territory. “Aye, well, I’ve been a bit… shite on the phone front the last couple of days.”
“You had no signal.”
“Well, aye. I had no signal,” he said. “But, still.”
Shona shrugged. “You’re not to blame for the lack of network coverage, Jack.”
“True.” Logan looked from her to the flowers. “Sod it, I’ll take them back, then.”
She laughed and whipped the bouquet away before he could reach for it. “Not a chance,” she said, giving the flowers a sniff. “That you all done, then? Mystery solved and back up the road?”
Logan explained he was just there for the night, and failed to spot the disappointment behind her smile. She looked around for another excuse to switch subjects, and spotted the briefcase he had set on the floor by his feet when Shona had fallen.
“This a new look for you?” she teased. “Nineteen-eighties corporate banker. It’s a bold style choice, I’ll give you that.”
“Eh, actually, no. I’m hoping it’s something you can help me with.”
“You need to open it? I’ve got a vertebrae chisel that should do the job.”
Something about the combination of the words ‘vertebrae’ and ‘chisel’ momentarily stopped the detective in his tracks.
“Or is it a code?” Shona asked, picking up the case by the handle. “We could try one each. We could make it a race! Last one to get it open buys dinner.”
“Actually, I was concerned it might be explosive,” Logan said.
Shona’s smile remained fixed in place, but her gaze crept slowly down to the briefcase she was holding in what she now realised was quite a cavalier manner.
“Like… a bomb?” she whispered, then she swallowed as if trying to clear something that had become stuck in her throat. “You brought me a bomb?”
Logan took the case from her. “It’s probably not a bomb,” he said. Then, when he realised this didn’t have quite the desired calming effect, he went bolder. “It’s almost certainly not a bomb. The chances of it being a bomb are minuscule. But, I thought maybe we could X-ray it to check. Just to be on the safe side.”
“On the safe side for who?” Shona squeaked. “I didn’t have a bomb here five minutes ago.”
“Potential bomb. It’s highly doubtful that it’s going to explode.” He stole a glance at the door to the post-mortem room. “Anyway, you’ll be behind a lead screen, won’t you?”
“We’ll be behind a lead screen,” Shona replied, grabbing him by the front of the shirt. “If I’m getting blown to tiny little bits, then so are you.”
As expected, the briefcase did not contain a bomb. Going by the X-ray image, it didn’t contain very much of anything, in fact, besides some paperwork and—potentially more interestingly—a small bundle of Polaroids.
Once they were sure it wasn’t going to explode, they perched on the stools by the worktop out in the office, and worked their way through the combinations. This was partly because Logan really didn’t want to know what a vertebrae chisel looked like, but mostly so he could enjoy the closeness of the woman beside him.
“Have you spoken to Maddie yet?” Shona asked, fiddling her way through the rightmost digit on the rotating lock. The dials were stiff, and the fact they were both wearing gloves so as to minimise contamination wasn’t making the job any easier.
“How do you mean?” Logan asked.
Shona paused, mid-turn. Her eyes darted around like she was searching for a flaw in the question she’d just asked. “I mean… have you spoken to Maddie yet?”
“Aye. No. I mean… Do you mean spoke to her, spoke to her?”
“What’s the alternative meaning?” Shona wondered. “Not spoke to her, spoke to her?”
“We texted,” Logan said.
Shona, who had briefly resumed working through the combinations, stopped again. “You texted?”
“Aye. Well, she texted me.”
“She texted you?!”
“I replied!” Logan said, suddenly defensive. “I mean, it was a few hours after she sent it, but I replied.”
“Oof!”
“What? What do you mean, ‘Oof’? What’s ‘Oof’?” he asked.
“She reached out to you, and you took hours to reply.”
“I had no signal!” Logan protested. “You said yourself, I can’t be blamed for lack of network coverage.”
Shona sucked air in through her teeth and shook her head. “In this instance, you can.”
“What was I meant to do? Drive to somewhere with mobile reception?” Logan cried. His eyes flitted left and right, his brow furrowing. “I mean… That doesn’t sound entirely unreasonable, now that I say it out loud. Shite!” He slapped his forehead and ran a hand down his face. “I should’ve driven to somewhere with a mobile reception.”
“And…?”
Logan sighed. “And I should have called her. I shouldn’t have waited for her to text me.”
“Good. You’re learning,” Shona told him. “I’m done with this, by the way.”
Logan blinked. “You’re what? You’re done with this?”
She smirked. “The case. My side. It’s double-oh-nine.” She adopted a passable Sean Connery accent. “Licence to scald.”
Logan blinked for the second time in five seconds. “Eh?”
“Double-oh-seven is licence to kill, double-oh-eight will be, like, licence to generally maim, and nine will be exclusively licensed to cause scalding,” Shona said. “I mean, if I was in charge of the franchise that’s how it would work, anyway.”
“Have you… have you actually thought about this?” Logan asked. “Before now, I mean?”
“Erm…” Shona looked away for a moment, then locked eyes with him again. “No,” she said, quite unconvincingly. “Why would I spend hours doing something like that?” She tapped his side of the case. “Come on, chop-chop.”
“It’s not double-oh-nine on my side,” he replied, turning the dial.
“Oh well, looks like dinner’s on you, then,” Shona announced, hopping down from the stool. She yawned, ran a hand back through her unkempt hair, and went plodding over to the kettle. “But I think we’ll have some coffee, while we’re waiting.”
Over two-hundred-and-thirty rotations later, the second of the briefcase’s clasps sprung open, and Logan let out a sigh of relief.
“We did it!” Shona cheered, raising her half-empty coffee cup aloft. “We cracked the case!”