Finding Fraser (33 page)

“Yeah, and you would not believe the mess. A
carving knife woulda made cleaner work of it.”

The man slapped a few coins on the counter
near the cash and, clutching the remains of his paper, dashed out the door.

“Thanks, Ash,” I said, absently.

“No probs,” he said. “Chasing zombies on my
phone—fair inspirational, aye?”

The article was very short. The picture at
the top could have been a mug shot, but on further reading it turned out to be
a passport photo. It was better than mine, too—she didn’t look like a
serial killer.

She looked like Susan.

I took a deep breath, and read the story
again.

American Actress Behind String of Thefts

AP Glasgow

Lothian and Borders Police continue to search for
a fugitive who is thought to be behind a series of crimes throughout
Inverness-shire and other Highlands districts over the past year. American
actress
Gail Lee Duncan
, known
for her facility with accents, is accused of masterminding a string of thefts
with losses amounting in the tens of thousands of pounds.

“The woman is a chameleon,” said Chief Inspector Milton
Garda of the Inverness Force. “We had her in our custody, but she was released
on bail prior to her hearing.”

That bail is now forfeit, as Miss Duncan has not
been seen since leaving the Inverness Police station.

“This accused is accomplished at switching
identities and has mastered several accents,” the police officer added, “though
it’s true her Irish accent is a particularly poor imitation, and in fact it was
that which led to her initial capture.”

Duncan, who also is known to go by the aliases
Susan O’Donnell and Gaily Dee, is due to stand trial on a long series of
offenses ranging from theft to impersonation. Police believe she has fled the
country for one of the larger cities down south.”

“
I
bought
her Irish accent,” I muttered, and looked over the paper to find myself staring
straight into the substantially irate face of Sandeep.

“What’s this I hear about you stealing
newspapers from our customers?” he asked, snatching the page out of my hands
and brandishing it at me.

I looked over at Ash, but he’d stowed his
game and was ringing through a customer’s bill. I couldn’t quite manage to
catch his eye.

I tried to grab the page from my boss’s
hands, but he held it behind his back. “It was a mistake, Sandeep. I just—just
borrowed it to—ah …”

“Read crap during work hours?” he said,
silkily. “Or perhaps learn the techniques required for threatening my customers
with a plastic fork?”

I stared at him, speechless.

He shook the paper in my face. “Do NOT let
this happen again!” he roared, and stomped off into the back.

“He’s going to read that while he’s taking a
shit, aye?” said Ash, pulling his phone out again.

“Probably so,” I muttered, letting my breath
out at last.

Susan. Even reading about her got me in
trouble. “That woman is poisonous,” I said, to no one in particular. “If I
never see her again, I will be a happy person.”

“If I ever get coffee again, I’ll be a happy
person,” said an old lady at the counter.

I poured the rest of my carafe into her cup
and went off to wipe the tables. But I could not get that photograph out of my
mind.

Freaking Felon…

8:30 am, June 27

Nairn, Scotland

Have to type quickly here——the
Supposed-to-be-Free Internet Gestapo is marching over from the periodical
section toward me at this very moment. I just want to link to this news story.
Took me a few days to find it online, but if you ever see this woman——WATCH
OUT. She’s the one who stole all my things!

http://www.bbc.com/news/American-Crime-Spree-Suspect

- ES

Comments: 67

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

What a terrible criminal to steal from
you and other peoples. Her face must be burned in your memory. Will your Hamish
hunt her down and put her in hands of police?

GenesieFanGirl, New York, USA:

Hey Emma,

You probably don’t remember me, but we
met last winter at an OUTLANDER Fan Fiction event. I’ve been following your
blog since then, and have to admit it’s been pretty entertaining. But since you
haven’t posted in a while, I figured you might well have given up the chase,
having found your Jamie Fraser clone and all.

But in case he turns out to be a dud, (I
mean——have you even
slept
with him yet?) I thought you might like to know the rumor here is that your
friend Jack Findlay is retelling the Braveheart story, and it’s all the buzz.
Now, William Wallace is truly a man worthy of chasing down! Maybe you’d have
more luck getting it on with Braveheart…?

- Genesie

(Read 65 more comments
here
…)

Genesie.
I couldn’t believe she was actually reading my blog. After all, we
hadn’t parted on the greatest of terms. If she was still upset with me, though,
she’d certainly gotten her own back with the crack about Hamish.

I slipped out of the library before Katy even
had a chance to give me the stink-eye. I had bigger worries than Katy, anyway.
Outside, the sun had begun to shine like it really might be summer. A breeze swirled
up from the Firth, cooling the heat that had sprung to my face reading
Genesie’s comment.

What if she was right? Was Hamish a dud? Or
worse—what if I was? I counted backwards as I pedaled toward the cafe.
I’d spilled the hot water down his neck almost a month ago. Almost a month. And
the closest we’d come to getting naked together had been thwarted by farm
animals.

Cute
farm animals, but still.

Maybe Genesie was only pointing out what I
hadn’t been willing to face. Why hadn’t I pushed harder to get alone time with
Hamish?

And why should I have to push, anyway?

The minutes until my lunch break ticked
by more slowly than tenth grade physics class. Sandeep flicked his fingers
impatiently at me when I asked him for the third time if he thought the worst
of the rush was over.

“What’s so important that you have to race
out of here?” he demanded.

“I’m—I’m just going to run across the
street a minute. I have to ask Geordie a question. I’ll be back right away …”

He rolled his eyes and viciously dug coffee
grounds out of the strainer. “Geordie? More likely Hamish, aye?”

“No—well, maybe. I just want to find
out when he’s coming back.”

Sandeep snorted. “In the old country, girls
don’t chase after boys. They let their fathers handle the arrangements.”

I untied my apron and cracked open the back
door. A blast of warm air swirled in. “I’m not chasing anyone. Just asking a
question. Besides, weren’t you born in Glasgow?”

“Close the fookin’ door,” he yelled, and I
bolted.

Less than a minute later, I ran into the
garage office. Genesie’s comments had made me more desperate than ever to see
Hamish. Seeing him would quiet that doubting voice in my head, I knew it.
Earlier in the week, when I had stopped by and asked Geordie, he said Hamish
would be back in a day or two. It felt like an eternity since we’d been
together.

When I burst into the office, I was surprised
to see Hamish standing inside the first garage bay, large as life. He and
Geordie were laughing uproariously.

“You’re back!” I said, and threw myself into
his arms.

Geordie gave me a sideways glance. “Two
minutes, man,” he said to Hamish, and grabbing his coffee cup, stalked into the
office. Hamish picked up a rag and began to wipe the grease from his hands.

“Don’t worry about that,” I said, and leaned
in for a kiss.

He gave me a little kiss on the tip of my
nose, and then hurriedly stepped back, still wiping his hands. “Ach, ye’ll no’
want this grease on yer uniform, lass,” he said, and walked round to the far
side of the small car in the bay.

“Okay, you’re probably right,” I said,
reluctantly. “I missed you so much, though. It feels like you’re always away.”

He nodded, and started digging around under
the hood of the vehicle. “It’s been a bi’ of a busy season,” he said, his voice
muffled.

I stepped closer, and stuck my head under
the other side.

“So … where’d you go?”

“After the pickup in Glasgow, I had to turn
around and head to Fort William. It’s down south a bit.”

“I know it. I have a friend there. Maybe I
could hitch a ride with you the next time you go?”

“Mebbe,” he muttered, and dropped the wrench
he was using inside the engine. “Aw, fer fook’s sakes,” he said, and dove in to
try and reach it. “Em, ye’d better get back to work, hadn’t yeh?” he gasped, as
he felt around inside. His voice reminded me of Morag the time she was dealing
with the mama sheep.

“Okay, I’ll go,” I said. “But I feel like we
haven’t spent any time together lately. I miss you.”

He grunted loudly and then held up the
wrench triumphantly. “Got the bastard!”

Geordie stuck his head in from the office.
“You still here?” he said to me.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” I said. “But
since I never get to see my boyfriend any more, maybe next time you send him
away on a weekend, I can go along to navigate?”

Hamish was making wild hand gestures at me,
but Geordie crossed his arms over his chest and stepped inside the door.

“Aye, well your boyfriend is makin’ a short
trip tomorrow evenin’ all the way doon to the fine municipality of Dores. I’m
sure you’d be a welcome distraction to his drivin’, if yer free.”

I nodded eagerly. “I’m off at five. That
would be perfect!”

He turned to Hamish. “Weel, now that’s
settled, mebbe we can get a little godDAMNED WORK DONE AROUN’ HERE?”

I blew Hamish a kiss and fled.

I didn’t have a chance to see my favorite
mechanic before work the next day, but when things slowed down after the lunch
rush, I followed Ash outside to ask him where Dores was, exactly.

“It’s a wee place, doon the south shore of
the Loch,” he said, shielding his cigarette from the rain. “Bou’ forty minutes
drive, give or take. Plenty o’ time fer a booty-call, afterwards.”

“Never mind about that,” I said, hastily.

“Wha—ye think I don’t know what’s
goin’ on wi’ you two?”

“Well, it’s none of your concern,” I said, primly
folding my arms across my chest.

An incredulous look spread across his face.
“Fer fook’s sake, Emma—don’t tell me ye haven’t done the nasty, yet?
What’s the matter wi’ yeh?”

I punched him in the arm. “Shut up,” I
hissed. “I have no intention of discussing this with you. You’re—you’re
just a child!”

I stomped back into the kitchen.

“A child who’s plainly gettin’ more than
you,” he yelled after me.

I refused to speak to him for the rest of
the day, but his stupid remarks—in chorus with Genesie’s—kept
replaying in my mind. By the time I needed to leave, I had myself worked up
into quite a mental frenzy.

What was the matter with me? Hamish was
gorgeous, especially without the baseball cap, and I wanted to see more of him.
But whenever we were together, something always seemed to get in the way.

Ash was right. He probably was getting more
than me. For God’s sake, Morag was probably getting more than me, since what I
was getting was a big, fat zero. But I was convinced all I needed was less talk
and more getting-to-know you time with Hamish. He was everything I was looking
for in my Jamie—tall, strong, handsome. And, if you thought about it,
having come all the way from America, I was even more of a Sassenach than
Claire, right?

Right?

Sadly, driving a truck down what was
little more than a country lane turned out to be less than ideal for a
bonding-without-chatting time. As I climbed into the passenger seat, Bob Seeger
implored me to take my old records off a shelf. I leaned forward to turn the
volume down a little, and nestled into the seat beside Hamish. He grinned at
me, and cranked the volume again.

“I love that old time rock n’ roll,” he
crooned, using both hands to push me back into my own seat.

“Um …” I began, but he patted my hand
reassuringly.

“Need yer belt, pet,” he said, buckling me
in place. “It’s not such a winding road, but safety first, aye?”

Aye.

Once I was fully buckled and Bob had
finished his song, Hamish ground the gears, and we were off.

“Ah love that man,” he said fervently, as he
flipped the volume down. “He represents everything that’s right about America.
Hard work, success—believin’ in yer dreams …”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a grandfather by now,”
I said. “You don’t actually hear his music that much any more.”

Hamish waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I
know he’s mostly on the oldies stations, but—good music like tha’ will
never die.”

He shifted gears—literally—and
then launched into a dissertation about how he’d saved his money for years,
waiting for an opportunity to move to America. This opportunity had finally
presented itself in the form of, apparently, me.

“Don’t you need a work permit …” I began,
but he waved my concern aside.

Or maybe he was just conducting the Silver
Bullet band.

“Jes’ a formality,” he said, grinning.
“They’re always looking for good mechanics in California.” He shifted gears and
looked over at me. “When is it ye have to return?”

“I’m not actually sure,” I said, glumly. “I
guess I’d better look it up. Sometime pretty soon, I expect.”

Hamish’s face took on an anxious expression.
“Will it still be summer in California by then?” he asked.

I nodded. “And in Chicago, too. ’Cause
that’s where I live, y’know. I need to save enough for my ticket home.”

He smiled happily, and flipped on his
signal. “Ach, maybe Sandeep’ll give yeh double-shifts. By then, ye’ll have
enough cash to get rid o’ those glasses and move to LA!”