Chapter Eight

Carly was extremely glad they'd decided to visit the church.

Keith MacDonald might truly prove to be an asset to them. She smiled, thinking she liked him—she wondered what he had been like in life.

They left him soon after, promising him they were actively seeking the man he had seen and others, considering the scope of the situation, and they would all be working continually until the matter was brought to an end.

In turn, Keith promised them he and Kaitlin—and others they had yet to meet—would also be watching and doing anything they could.

Right before they left, Keith made one last comment. "I'm in a better position now to slip around and watch what is happening without causing alarm," he told them dryly.

And Carly told him their plans for the evening to head to Filigree and to find out what they could. "There's something about that place, indeed!" he had said.

"We do believe someone there is involved, and we'll be working on that this evening. It's complicated. We're afraid children are entangled in this, so we need to be extremely careful with what we're doing," Luke had informed him.

"Trust me. I am capable of extreme care," Keith told them.

As they left the graveyard, Daniel looked at Carly with amusement.

"Could he really be an ancestor, do you think?"

She grinned. "Who knows? My grandparents came to the States right after World War II. But then again, even in the US, I can't tell you just how many MacDonalds there are!"

"It might be interesting to go on an ancestry site and find out," Luke told her.

She laughed softly. "Hmm. An idea, but I'm not always sure it's good to know about everything that might have happened with our ancestors. But...maybe!"

Daniel nodded. "True, but... Keith... He seemed like a fine fellow." He glanced at Carly and Luke. "I realize we're in the middle of something quite horrendous, but I'm grateful to you both. I knew I always felt things deeply, but until I worked with the two of you, whatever this sense is that we have, it wasn't developed in me. I supposed I might have been too afraid others might think me unwell."

"I wish I could say we'd had something to do with it," Carly told him. "But with our coworkers in the States, well there are many stories, people developing the sense at different times in their lives for different reasons."

"As far as the unwell part, we understand fully," Luke assured him. "I think we all go through that fear, and it's why the Krewe of Hunters is so important to us. We're able to share what we learn from the dead without fear of being locked up. But it's also extremely important you always remember this—we are part of the living, breathing world. Our dead friends can be extreme assets, but the evidence that we learn through law enforcement procedures remains paramount. Our investigation will be carried out to the best of our abilities resulting in the discovery of the culprits involved."

"Right," Daniel said. He grinned at them. "So, you don't think we need to stop, steal the sign and rub Greyfriars Bobby's nose?" he asked.

"I don't really feel like the populace hitting us—or winding up under arrest myself—would help our investigation!" Carly told him.

Daniel laughed and then grew serious.

"How do we find these children?" he asked.

Luke glanced at Carly and told Daniel, "If anyone can chat with Marjory, create a rapport and find out what the woman knows herself, it's Carly."

"Well, thank you," Carly murmured.

"If these people took her children, would they tell her where they were being kept?" Daniel asked.

"I don't know," Carly told him. "But they might have slipped and said something to give her an idea. And they might not even care if she knows, if they have her convinced that if she ever gives anything away, her children's lives will be the price she pays."

"And I think," Luke added, "the woman is probably in agony being so worried about her children. I don't think she'd ever kill anyone herself."

"Except maybe she is supplying the super-charged whiskey," Daniel noted.

"Again, maybe because she has no other choice?" Carly suggested.

They'd reached the turnoff to the house again. Luke keyed in their entry when they reached the gate and then again at the door.

"Campbell has gone on—he received a report from our techs. They've found five islands they're now doing their best to research, and we're sending fishing boats out around the waters to try to see if they can find anything that would allow us to get warrants," MacDuff told them. He shrugged. "Then again, maybe they're not out on an island. Maybe there's a house, a room...something right here beneath our noses that we're not seeing."

Jordan looked up from his computer and shook his head. "Auld Reekie!" he said.

Luke glanced at him and arched a brow.

Carly laughed. "That's what they called Edinburgh once upon a time. The city started with Old Town, of course. And there was a time where all the walls built throughout history closed it in. The population in such a small area was fierce with rich people getting their way. The rich lived on the second floors of buildings so that they didn't need to climb too many stairs, but they were above the filth of the streets, and poor people were relegated to the basements or attics, all together! Because of the walls and the fires for heat, there would appear to be a massive—stinky—gray cloud of stagnant air all the time. So..."

"Auld Reekie, got it," Luke assured her. He looked around at the others. "Well, so it appears as if we're about ready for a great rollicking night out on the town, all set in what one might describe as business casual. Should we make a solid plan and start out?"

"Solid plan," MacDuff said. "Carly befriends Marjory Alden at the bar. Senior man here, so I'll take a seat at a table. Let's see, Jordan—"

"Happy to sit with you, sir."

"Someone watches the entry and exit, I guess. And that will be me. Luke?"

"The bar always winds up being about two or three people deep with friends—or just those who don't really want a table—hanging around the stools. I'll be in the few-feet deep on the other side of the bar," Luke said.

"Won't you be recognized as having been together the other night?" Jordan asked.

"We can greet one another, we can be friends," Luke said. "But we need a close eye on what is going on there." He hesitated.

"If I'm trying to reach a point with Marjory where she might tell me things, I could also be in a position where she may try to ply me with enhanced whiskey. And if she does produce a bottle that's not obviously right there in the wall or on the bar shelves—" Carly began.

"I'll be in a position to interrupt and give Carly the opportunity to rid herself of that particular drink," Luke said.

"We're also on the lookout for our fellow in the sketch," MacDuff said. "But we don't know if he was in Filigree, or if he was alerted to watch out for Lila leaving the bar."

Daniel glanced at Luke and Carly. "Since we found the broken glass that was able to tell us about someone distilling super-charged whiskey, I believe he was indeed in Filigree, perhaps right at the bar, maybe blended in with a group that was pressed tightly—three deep as happens in such places. There's a good chance he'll be in there."

"And if he starts something up with Carly," MacDuff began, "we—"

"We let him follow me. If we see him, we will let him follow me," Carly said. "But remember, we need to discover what is going on with Marjory's children. It is becoming more and more obvious that several people are involved in this in one way or another."

"Earbuds, everyone on earbuds," MacDuff said.

"Works for me!" Carly told him.

"And no drunken shouting!" MacDuff told Jordan.

Jordan laughed. "Ah, sir, if only!" he said lightly. "So, we're on! I'll get the equipment," he said, referring to the earbuds and mics, their way of all knowing what was going on every minute on their determined course of action.

They tested the equipment and started out, staggering the way they walked so that they didn't appear to be a group.

They reached Filigree.

Carly saw William MacRay and Marjory Alden were the two bartenders just as they'd been before.

William MacRay greeted her. "Ah, lovely new American friend. Welcome. I'm delighted that you're enjoying our wee pub here so much!"

"It's a great place. And tonight I think I'll just have a seat at the bar."

He came close to her and pretended to flirt. "Tennent's Zero?" he asked her. "But I'll get it in a glass."

"Thank you," she said.

Luke was around the other side of the bar, standing back, ostensibly in a conversation with two businessmen who were standing just behind the stools.

She knew Luke would be watching to make sure nothing other than the beer wound up in her glass.

"And then I'll leave you alone," MacRay said, leaning close and smiling as if they shared an intimate secret.

Carly sipped the beer and remembered it was nonalcoholic and thought she should drink more so Marjory might check to see if she needed anything else.

She saw the woman was standing by the cash register and leaning against the cabinets there, and for a moment, her face bore a look of such hopelessness that Carly felt her heart tear. The woman had to be stopped, but she was certain they were right—her children were at stake.

"Marjory, eh, lass! What's happening here?" the older woman at her side asked as she lifted her glass.

"Coming, coming, Mrs. Dougherty!" Marjory said, shaking off whatever worry had become so intense that, for just a moment, she hadn't managed to hide her agony. She hurried over to help the old woman. As she did so, she glanced at Carly.

"Another whiskey, aye, luv!" Marjory said to the woman. "Right on it!"

Carly could clearly see her pour the drink from a bottle in the well.

But Mrs. Dougherty would not be a suitable victim. She was far too elderly and while she might have decent health, she could also have a weaker heart than a younger person or suffer from any of the other ailments that attacked the human body as people aged.

No.

The chosen victims would be in their twenties to thirties...

Or perhaps even younger.

And as Carly had hoped, Marjory's attention switched to her.

"Hello and welcome! I saw you came to meet my mate here, Willy, the other night. Dining with friends, but...?"

"I love to sit at a bar and I'm obviously American, so... I'd love to get to know what it's like to sit at a bar in Edinburgh," Carly told her.

"Ah. And you saw Willy again, I see. But now, I do love the boy, but he's neglecting you! That ale is about gone. May I get you another?"

"I'm trying to keep it low-key. Kids, you know?" Carly said.

The woman's expression changed. The color seemed to seep from her face, leaving it white.

"Little ones, yes, of course. You have kids at home?" she asked.

"Well, not mine. But I'm with a friend, been with a friend... We're not a real thing, yet. He was divorced, and you know how that goes...takes a while. But if we do keep this thing going, I want to be a good stepmom. I would not take over or anything—their parents should always be their parents. But I want to be a good stepmom, and that means learning how to enjoy a bar without getting two sheets to the wind!" Carly said, improvising.

Carly observed the woman's reactions to her fabrication. Marjory appeared conflicted.

I'm a mother, I'm not a mother, I'm the person I'd want my ex to be with when he started a new relationship, someone who would care about and take care of another woman's children but always remember their real mother was their real mother.

Carly heard Luke's voice through her earbuds.

"You're coming off a bit too decent and charming," he warned. "And don't tell me you can't help it, you're just that charming."

She glanced across the bar. He was pretending to be on his phone. He was watching her in return with a fair amount of amusement.

But he was right.

"Then again, who knows?" she asked Marjory. "Maybe nothing will ever come of the two of us. I don't have a ring..."

"And yer out without him," Marjory noted. "And you were out the other night, right? Didn't I see you at a table as well as the bar?"

"I have relatives here," she said. "Oh, what the heck. Maybe it's a night to indulge. Oh, how rude of me. Marjory, do you have children?"

Again, the woman couldn't quite control the paleness that rose to her face.

"I do. Son and daughter. They're beautiful. Worth anything in the world," she whispered. "I'll get you a whiskey. Take a night to enjoy yourself!" she told Carly.

She hurried away, but she didn't grab the whiskey in the well as she had done for the older woman sitting next to Carly.

She walked around to the back of the bar.

"All right, she has decided you're not so nice," Luke said. "But, still...the kids."

"I know, I know," Carly murmured.

"That's the stuff," she heard Luke say through the earbuds.

Marjory returned with her drink and apologized for the wait. "We're always busy in here. I am sorry to take so long," she said.

"Not at all!" Carly told her. "Marjory, what do you do with the kids at night? I'm always trying to figure that out. I mean, you're working with kids! It can't be so different here than it is in America. I'm in the travel business, and I work a lot of nights. Does your husband look out for them when you're here at night?" she asked.

"I'm divorced," Marjory said. "I have a good nanny. Except...my wee ones are on vacation with friends."

"Oh! Where did they go?" Carly asked.

"Um, I think they're traveling near, just south," Marjory said.

"Ah, maybe they're off to see Rosslyn Chapel. I want to see it myself! I loved the few minutes in getting to see it—the movie made from that book, The Da Vinci Code," Carly said. "The Knights Templar were persecuted, burned, hanged, tortured, all that, in the 1300s, and Rosslyn was built in the mid-1500s, right? So, I'm not sure the Templars could have hidden anything there—but then again, it was really all about the bloodline, right?"

"What? Um," Marjory murmured, looking as if she might have said too much and was stumbling to remain the friendly bartender full of information for tourists. "Aye, right, they find out, if I remember right, that the heroine was of the bloodline of Christ and Mary Magdalene."

"And a shadowy society guarded the secret! Something like that. But the chapel and the area are so pretty!"

"Roslin, Midlothian, Scotland," Marjory murmured.

"Only about twenty minutes from here, right?"

"Depends on where your car is and what traffic is like," Marjory said.

"I hear there are those who want all the vaults open, but then there's been so much fill, it would be just about impossible without the whole place collapsing. Still, I don't care about the vaults. I understand it's just beautiful, and that even the Arthurian legends seep into the building with all manner of carvings and—"

"It's quite beautiful. Drink up! That's a very special whiskey. Try it—let me know if you like it!"

Marjory, looking worried, turned to the older woman next to Carly and spoke briefly, seeing if she was doing all right, and then moved on.

"Dump the alcohol. MacDuff has called Brendan Campbell. They're getting people out to Rosslyn as we speak. May be made up, but we must follow every lead. Give it time. Let her bring you another, try to see if you can glean anything else," she heard through her earbuds.

Dump the alcohol. Of course, that had been her intent all along, but now it was easier said than done. She turned to Mrs. Dougherty, who was nursing her second whiskey.

"This really does seem to be a great little place! I love it when the staff is so nice," Carly said to her.

"Oh, aye, but we have many fine establishments!" the older woman said, looking at Carly. Her eyes were a bright blue and her hair was a beautiful, snowy white, puffing around her face like cloudy halos. "American, eh? Keep coming here. It's lovely. But you should also try a ghostly good pub, Banshee Labyrinth! Oh, and so many more, of course! Greyfriars Bobby's Bar is lovely. Oh, luv, if you want to sample some truly delicious Scottish fare, I say Howie's, right here in Old Town. Now, New Town has many of the more gourmet places, though some may be found near here. Still..."

She paused, frowning. Her napkin had slipped from her glass.

Carly used the opportunity to bend down to retrieve it, allowing the liquor in her glass to seep into the dark paneling of the floor beneath her.

"I'm so sorry, luv!" the woman said.

"No problem at all," Carly assured her. As she had bent down, she had seen that Kaitlin Bell was in the room and seemed anxious to speak with her.

"Dear me! I don't drink often, and it seems I don't do it well! I must take a trip to the ladies' room, but I don't want to leave my seat especially now that my glass is empty," Carly said.

"I shall guard it!" Mrs. Dougherty promised her.

"Thank you, thank you," Carly said. She left the bar area and she headed for the ladies' room. She hoped Kaitlin would understand she should talk, and Carly would just listen.

Thankfully, Kaitlin was shrewd and realized the situation. As Carly stood in line, Kaitlin spoke to her quickly.

"I think I know where they might be. A foreign interest recently bought land near Rosslyn Chapel. There were those who were upset, who wanted the ground purchased by a college or archeological institution. They believe there are tunnels beneath the two old cottages on the property that at one time connected to the chapel. It's all conjecture, of course, like almost everything about Rosslyn is conjecture or theory. But I believe the underground areas there really exist, which is why many people don't believe they should have been sold to any private enterprise, much less a foreigner. There were many news reports on it a month or so ago," Kaitlin told her. "Hardly world news when some are upset that a few cottages are sold, but children could be kept in the underground, a basement or even a tunnel."

Carly pulled out her phone and said, "Yes?" Then she looked at Kaitlin and said, "Thank you so much!"

"Take care, take care!" Kaitlin warned her.

And Carly nodded and said softly, "Thank you, again."

She pretended the line was too long and turned to leave, speaking quietly as if into her phone as she returned to the bar.

"Campbell should know of them. There are two possibilities, cottages built near the same time as Rosslyn Chapel, bought by a foreign interest. Some people are in an uproar. Could be nothing, but—"

"We heard Marjory. Daniel is on his way there already. He insisted Luke be the one to come with him," MacDuff said through her earbuds. "I'm still at a table and ready to follow. But buy more time. They need at least half an hour or more."

"Copy that," Carly murmured as she went back to the bar.

Mrs. Dougherty had kept her stool for her. Now, however, a new—full—drink had been put there for her to enjoy.

"Marjory said that one is on her. If you don't imbibe often, you should have some fun!"

"Well, that was quite kind," Carly said.

"And," Mrs. Dougherty said, leaning toward her, "a very nice thing. She gave you a drink and felt that she was then obliged to buy one fer me, too!"

Carly laughed. "Well and good!" she said. "By the way, I'm Carly. Carly MacDonald."

"MacDonald?"

"I know. I don't look Scottish."

"Well, lass, yer quite beautiful. Those eyes! Dark and mysterious and lovely!"

"Thank you. We tend to be a mix of cultures and countries in the States."

"I'm Emily. Emily Dougherty. And I am a wee bit of a mix meself! Me da is half Irish and half French, and me mum is half Welsh and half Scottish!"

"We're like mutt puppies and they are strong. Stronger for the mix," Carly said. She smiled at the woman, looking across the bar where Luke had stood before.

MacDuff had left his table and taken up the position. He was chatting and blending in. She caught bits and pieces of his conversation.

"Carly?" Luke's voice. "Don't leave—we'll report back. Daniel wanted me to be with him because we ran into the gentleman we met in the street the other day. He had information on the cottages because a relative of his lived there or worked there or something years ago. Jordan is just outside where the drinking smokers gather. Try to buy more time."

"Right," she murmured.

And she did. It was easy enough. William MacRay came by to chat with her, and she smiled at him. He was better at acting completely normal than he had given himself credit for.

Emily Dougherty was happy to fill her in on all aspects of Edinburgh.

She managed to ditch the second drink. Of course, Marjory came by to serve her another one.

Half an hour passed easily and then a few minutes more.

She was about to figure out a way to speak to Luke and ask him his position.

She laughed at one of Emily Dougherty's descriptions of a young man at the bar and managed to spill another drink.

And seeing her glass empty on one of her rounds, Marjory Alden refilled it again.

"Private stash," she heard MacDuff whisper in her ear.

"Aye," she heard herself murmur, picking up the Scottish affirmative. And as she did so, she noticed something else.

A man who was the very image of the sketch created through the description given to them by Flora MacDonald was at the bar.

He managed to situate himself between those sitting and those standing behind them. He was almost lost in the crowded area.

He was keeping an eye on Marjory.

And, Carly thought, he was keeping an eye on her.

She had done it, she realized.

She had managed to make herself the night's chosen victim.

But...

She still had to wait. To play the game. And pray it had been easier than they had ever dared hope to find Marjory's children.

Daniel was doing the driving; he was familiar with the route. Luke sat beside him in the front passenger's seat.

And Keith MacDonald sat in the back, leaning forward so he could speak with them.

"Luke, thank you," Keith said. "We all know that...well, that you'd rather be one of the teammates watching over Carly. But Daniel needed backup, and he needed backup who could see and hear me."

"Carly is bright and knows what she's doing," Luke assured him. And that was true. But they all counted on their backup. And while he knew he was doing the right thing, the necessary thing under the circumstances, it was true; he wasn't happy about leaving the bar.

"Right," Daniel murmured, grinning slightly as he drove. "But when we get there—"

"Here's the thing, of course," Keith interrupted. "I can will myself through walls and enter through closed doors. But I can't just wish myself elsewhere. That's why so many ghosts are in their old homes or even haunting their burial sites. When we wish to go distances, well, as in life, we need trains, planes and automobiles. Well, it used to be horseback or buggy, but we've come a long way since I discovered that...I remained, but I was no longer alive."

"I'm not sure if I envy you or not," Daniel told him. "I mean through time, we see so much that is heartbreaking with our families, our friends..."

"That's true. We see so much that is beautiful and brilliant, too," Keith said. "Most souls just go on. I think we only stay if we have a purpose, and I've wondered through the years what mine might be. And now...now I believe I'm here because I could not help when Jamie died, but maybe I can help now!"

"We thank you," Luke assured him quietly.

"And here's hoping!" Daniel added.

Daniel was an extremely competent driver and managed to do the short distance to Roslin in just about twenty minutes.

The magnificent visage of Rosslyn Chapel came into view. Great pillars rose to pointed arches, and the chapel seemed to dominate the horizon.

"It's an amazing place, the stuff of legend, fantasy, theory and so much more. The columns and statuary are fascinating. Stories persist of King Arthur—from a way earlier time—but most have to do with the quest for the Holy Grail. Be it as some literature suggests, a bloodline or in truth a chalice or something of the like," Daniel murmured. "The cottages that were sold to the dismay of many were built before the chapel. They remain, though they were built for some of the workmen who came to do the building. And there...the first one lies just ahead."

"It was founded by William Sinclair, first Earl of Caithness—the actual construction began in 1456. But the charter received from Rome dates back to 1446, dates that confuse some people," Keith explained. "But they needed a place for workers. It's the third house of worship here, the first is in Roslin Castle, and the buttresses of a second can still be seen in the graveyard," Keith offered. "And there ahead is our destination."

Compared to the grandeur of the church, the cottages were small and simple. They were built as places for workmen to live and nothing more.

"Anglican now and, like us, went through changes!" Keith told them. "The chapel suffered a terrorist bombing in 1914, but visitors are welcomed and encouraged. The cottages we're heading for are not on chapel property, which is why they could be sold and are privately owned."

"One day, I'll get back here and really see the chapel," Luke said. "For now—"

"You have a plan?" Daniel asked.

"I do. If there's real trouble, Campbell has police who can be here in less than a minute—they've been waiting for us to act." They were out of range for use of the earbuds now; Luke had gotten a text from the man. "Keith, here's what I'd like to do. Daniel and I are both armed, but we don't want to go in as if we know something wrong is going on. I'll let Daniel do the talking. He's going to say we're with a division of child welfare, and someone heard children crying. Before we get to the door, you're going to have already gone in. When you find the children, you let us know—then we'll pretend to hear a kid scream and enter under what we call exigent circumstances."

Keith nodded. "Give me five minutes. I can't go great distances, but I can move fast."

"Perfect. Thank you."

They parked in front of the expansive property, and Keith drifted on out. Luke glanced at Daniel and then looked down at his phone, as if he were reading from a file.

"Just in case someone is looking out," Luke said.

"Of course. I wonder if whoever answers the door is going to do so with a gun."

"Couldn't that someone be in trouble just for having a gun?" Luke asked.

Daniel laughed. "Not if he just shoots us first."

"Ah, well, they won't know we're armed—and like Keith, I can move damned fast."

Daniel leaned back for a minute. "We've got to give him time..."

"We are doing so," Luke assured him. Finally, he opened his door and looked at Daniel.

"Two cottages were bought by the same person—or entity. If legend or archeological suspicion is right, they are all attached. Maybe as a way for the workers to move about more easily? Who knows. No one even knows where the original plans are for the chapel," Daniel said. "I hope we're right!" he added, almost in a whisper.

He got out of the car, too, staring at the cottage for a long moment. Luke did the same, taking in the stonework, the old chimney and the windows, which didn't appear to have been redone in a long, long time.

Then they walked up to the front door. There was no bell, just a huge lion-shaped door knocker.

Luke banged it several times.

A man opened the door. He was in his early thirties, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with stern facial features.

"What is it?" he demanded with annoyance.

As Luke had said he would do, he let Daniel do the talking.

"Sir, we're here to investigate rumors that are circulating in the area. It's been reported that screams are coming from this house, screams that are issuing from the lips of children."

"Impossible!" the man exploded.

"Sir—"

"It's those annoying preservationists or whatever, the idiots who want to dig up this place. They will say anything!"

His accent wasn't Scottish, but not American, either. Luke couldn't quite place it; he believed the man had a full knowledge of the English language, but it was a second language for him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Daniel said. "We still need to investigate."

Keith came running up behind the man. "They're here!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Basement leads to tunnels, and they're in the first room of the tunnel. But not just two, there are four children down there, three little girls and a boy."

"I heard it!" Luke exclaimed.

"Heard what?" the man demanded.

"That scream!"

Obviously the man hadn't heard anything, but he dropped any pretense and reached behind his back for a gun.

Luke was faster, and Daniel drew on the man as well.

"Drop it!" he ordered.

The man shook his head and Luke heard the click of a safety.

He fired, and the man went down, screaming and clutching his right upper chest. Luke kicked the man's weapon far out of the way and shouted to Daniel, "Take care, there may be others here—"

But Keith spoke up. "No one is up here. There is a woman in the tunnels. It is a small place, two bedrooms and a kitchen, parlor, entryway and steps below in the kitchen. I don't believe the woman is armed, but I hurried back up when I heard you at the door."

The man on the floor was groaning in pain. "Call Campbell—have the troops come out along with an ambulance for him."

He had his own phone out. Carly answered quickly.

"Hey!" she said cheerfully, like a good bar patron, feeling the effects of a different kind of spirit.

"We've got the children," he told her, remembering to add, "alive!"