On their way to Dunross they talked about the FBI and Michael’s decision to enter the academy.
“You’ll start the end of August?”
“Yes.”
“Will the training to become an agent be as brutal and intense as it was for you to become a Navy SEAL?”
“No.”
She waited for him to tell her more, and when he remained silent, she asked, “Care to explain why it won’t be as difficult?”
“No.”
“Michael? Do you know what people skills are?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You ought to get some.”
He just shrugged and smiled. It wasn’t the reaction she wanted.
“What are you going to do when you get back to Boston?” he asked a few minutes later.
“Spend the night, then fly back to South Carolina, I suppose. I honestly don’t know where I’ll end up. I can work on my songs anywhere,” she added.
Odd though it was, thinking about leaving the Highlands made her emotional, probably because she was trying not to admit leaving Scotland meant leaving Michael, too. He had his future all mapped out, and it didn’t include her.
“We have a lot of time. Do you want to drive around Glen MacKenna? We’ve only seen a tip of it.”
“I’d like that.”
Only when they’d taken the tour of her land did she realize just how big it was. It had everything a national park envied. There were streams, lakes, hills, and valleys, all places to fish, hunt, and hike.
For an outdoorsman Glen MacKenna was Utopia.
They had circled around to Rosemore when Sinclair called. Michael put him on speaker. The inspector sounded ecstatic with his news. They were beginning the investigation to connect Harcus to the kill order given to Jacoby and Ferris, but in the meantime, the investigators going through MacCarthy’s records had found proof that Harcus had received large sums of money to do MacCarthy’s dirty work, including framing Wiley Croft for stealing government funds, the case Sinclair had mentioned earlier. They had enough hard evidence to put Clive Harcus in prison for at least twenty years. There wouldn’t be any talk of bail. The Terror of the Highlands was finished.
There was also evidence implicating Graeme Gibson, and Sinclair was on his way to Graeme’s cottage to arrest him.
Michael finished the call and parked in front of a little café down the street from the Rosemore Police Station.
“We have plenty of time to grab something to eat before we head over to Dunross for your meeting with Gladstone.”
Another call came in for Michael—this one from his brother Nick—and while he talked to him, Isabel decided to turn her cell phone on and find out how many calls she’d missed and how many texts she needed to read.
The number made her groan. She would take the time to go through them all later. She turned the ringer to vibrate and dropped the phone back in her pocket.
Her stomach was growling. As soon as he had mentioned food, she became hungry. The power of suggestion. The café was small, but they were the only customers. They sat by the front window so that Michael could watch the street. While they ate, she told Michael what Freya had said to her.
“I can’t imagine why she would believe Compton would marry her,” she told him.
“I’m surprised she would talk to you.”
“She was . . . almost pleasant until I mentioned I own the property now.”
“Almost pleasant?”
“No, not really.”
“Then why did you say she was?”
Michael was coming to the conclusion that figuring out how her mind worked was impossible.
She was a constant contradiction. She kept him on his guard, he admitted, because he never knew what she was going to say or do. Life with Isabel would never be boring.
Isabel was trying to be compassionate toward Freya. The woman had been forced to raise a difficult boy on her own, and really believed that Compton would leave Glen MacKenna to Clive.
“Freya became very angry. She called me a selfish bitch. After she left, I realized how important it was to protect the land from people like Harcus, and so I knew then what I should do with Glen MacKenna.”
“And what is that?”
“You’ll find out when we get to Gladstone’s office.”
Intrigued, he said with a smile, “Okay. I can wait.”
When they arrived at the law office, Nessie was sitting at her desk and greeted them. “Mr.
Gladstone will be right with you. He’s just finishing a phone call.”
As soon as they were seated in his office, Gladstone told Isabel he had been making phone calls since last night.
“Then it is possible?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
She couldn’t contain her excitement. She turned to Michael to fill him in. “Compton wouldn’t let me sell Glen MacKenna. He also prevented me from removing the MacKenna name. I don’t think this is what he had in mind, but, since I can’t sell it, I’m going to protect it by donating it to the National Trust for Scotland. It’s a conservation organization that preserves Scotland’s natural beauty. I want to make sure no one will be able to build shopping centers and amusement parks on the land. The name’s going to change, too. It’s going to become Glen Leah MacKenna.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said, nodding his approval. “Kate and Kiera gave away the millions they inherited to build a medical center addition with your mother’s name on it, and you are their sister. So I figured you would do something as generous.”
“This is going to take some time,” Gladstone warned her. A few minutes later he repeated his concern. “This won’t happen overnight.”
Michael interpreted. “He wants you to be patient.”
She nodded her understanding.
The meeting lasted an hour, and when all the details had been discussed, Gladstone turned to Michael. “Catch me up on Clive Harcus. I heard there was a fight.”
“It wasn’t much of a fight.”
“It was more of a ruckus,” Isabel said. Another Aunt Nora word.
“Now tell me, Michael. Is it true?” Gladstone asked. “Did Clive Harcus strike Inspector Sinclair? And you struck Clive?” The idea obviously appealed to him, judging by his wide smile.
Before Michael could do more than nod, Gladstone said, “Oh, I wish I had seen it. I’ve run into Clive a time or two here in the offices since he was one of MacCarthy’s clients, and he was a nasty bit of goods.”
Nessie appeared in the doorway to let Gladstone know she was leaving for the day.
“Have a good night,” he called out.
The two men continued their conversation, but Isabel noticed Nessie was still hovering at the door, as though there was something on her mind. Isabel got up, excused herself, and walked over to the woman. Before she could ask how she could be of help, Nessie said, “May I have a word with you?”
Isabel followed her into the next room.