The Burning Glass
“Alasdair lunged for the door.
No! Jean stumbled, found her feet, and sprinted behind him as he double-timed it out of the chapel, over the terrace, up the path. No! The antiquity violated, and Alasdair too—he’d barely been here for twenty-four hours—it wasn’t fair!
Someone could have taken the inscription at any time during the ten days when Ferniebank had no caretaker, but no, the thieves came last night. Was that coincidence, too? There were too damn many coincidences.
And she stumbled again,... the second certainty punching her in the gut. She thought she’d seen lights last night, and she hadn’t told him.
He catapulted into the courtyard, headed for the flat—P.C. Logan and yet another APB, you get the clarsach back and you lose the inscription—a harp was one thing, a stone jigsaw puzzle was another . . . Jean ran out of the trees and stopped dead beside her car.
The Mystic Scotland van was idling outside the gate. The courtesy gate—now it was Ciara who was turning a key in its lock and pushing it open.MoreLess
No! Jean stumbled, found her feet, and sprinted behind him as he double-timed it out of the chapel, over the terrace, up the path. No! The antiquity violated, and Alasdair too—he’d barely been here for twenty-four hours—it wasn’t fair!
Someone could have taken the inscription at any time during the ten days when Ferniebank had no caretaker, but no, the thieves came last night. Was that coincidence, too? There were too damn many coincidences.
And she stumbled again,... the second certainty punching her in the gut. She thought she’d seen lights last night, and she hadn’t told him.
He catapulted into the courtyard, headed for the flat—P.C. Logan and yet another APB, you get the clarsach back and you lose the inscription—a harp was one thing, a stone jigsaw puzzle was another . . . Jean ran out of the trees and stopped dead beside her car.
The Mystic Scotland van was idling outside the gate. The courtesy gate—now it was Ciara who was turning a key in its lock and pushing it open.MoreLess
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