"How are we going to access the Internet?"
"Our old friend, Michael. We'll call him at a decent hour. If he goes to church we'll catch him after church. He has no reason to be suspicious of us, like we do of him. I'm sure he'll let us use his computer for a few minutes."
"So we won't tell him we think he's a liar."
"Not a good idea. If he's really seen James he's in contact with him and we don't want James to know we're nosing around."
"You don't think Jock is going to call him and tell him we're from the CIA?"
"Whether or not Jock believes that, he's keeping a low profile right now, hoping we'll leave town without causing him any trouble."
We arrived at Michael's house about noon after assuring him that we weren't coming for Sunday dinner. Heather greeted Arrow effusively and whisked her into the kitchen. Michael led me to his small office where the computer was already revved up.
I found the name of Seamus Zeebarth in the white pages of one of the Internet search engines, with an address in London, and the name was sufficiently unusual that Michael and I agreed it was undoubtedly the right man.
I asked Michael if I could send an email and he typed in the password to access his email system. He left the room for a couple of minutes while I sent an innocuous message to my father's address, knowing that John would read it. I left the copy on Michael's computer, in case he got curious. When I had finished I told Michael we would get out of his hair.
"I have something to tell you first," he said. "I remembered what happened with Dickie Stewart."
"I think Arrow would like to hear this too."
Michael retrieved her from the kitchen. When she heard about Michael's recovered memory she mouthed the words "tape recorder" at me. It was in the car. I shook my head. We didn't want to inhibit him.
The three of us sat around the fire, which always seemed to be going. Maybe Michael and Heather owned their own peat bog.
Michael said, "I must have repressed it because it's a bit gruesome, but one of the boys did tell me what happened with Dickie. It came to me last night. Dickie was a sweet kid, perhaps too sweet for the likes of us. He adored Ned because Ned had gone to his rescue when he was being beaten up by some boys from the other side of town. Ned was handy with his fists."
I could believe that. My memory of Ned was the feeling that he must be very muscular under his white shirt.
"Dickie followed Ned everywhere and tried to do the same things he did. That brought him into contact with Elma. One time when Ned and James were off somewhere, Dickie and Elma got together, so I was told. I'm not exactly sure what they did, but it must have been pretty steamy…"
Michael paused and I stole a glance at Arrow. She was looking at him with wide eyes.
"Anyway, Ned and James found out about it. James was inclined to laugh it off, but not Ned. He challenged Dickie. The result was that Dickie had to play The Game. If he won he would be clear. If he lost he had to climb the cliff.
"He lost. The day was set for his punishment. It rained all day, one of those rains that never stop. And the fog. You couldn't see more than a few feet. Dickie begged to have it postponed. Ned said he had to do it or he, Ned, would throw him off the cliff. You know the rest."
"I don't believe Ned would do that," Arrow said, heatedly.
"He had a temper, that Ned," Michael said. "You didn't want to cross him."
"Do you believe Michael's story?" Arrow asked as we headed south on A99.
"Before you make a judgment," I replied, "let me tell you something else I found out. After Michael let me into his email system he left me alone for several minutes. I just happened to check his email address book. One of the addresses is for a James B.
"James Buchanan! Or it could be someone else-like James Baker."
"The actual address is JB@tartan. com. Is that enough to convince you?"
"If Michael is trying to hide the fact that he knows James from us, it was careless of him to let you into his email system."
"Especially since I can access my own email from any computer," I said, smugly. "I didn't need to use his email. In fact, I checked my email messages yesterday and even sent some replies."
"Okay, Mr. Super-techie, tell me why Michael doesn't want us to know that he knows James."
I shook my head. "Damned if I know. But it does make his story about Ned suspicious."
"You mean because he might be bad-mouthing Ned to cover up for something James did?"
"Precisely. And if it is true, what would we tell Elma?"
"I wonder if Michael and James traded emails yesterday."
"I didn't have time to check his inbox."
"Maybe we can extract the truth from this guy in London-what’s his name? Seamus Zebra?"
"Something like that."
"We'll stop at Spean Bridge," I said, looking at the map while Arrow drove. "Or we could go on to Fort William."
"I remember Fort William from the drive up," Arrow said. "It's rather large. I prefer the smaller places."
"Large being a relative term. It's not Glasgow large-to say nothing of Los Angeles large. All the people in northern Scotland wouldn't fill a Los Angeles suburb."
"You know what I mean. The smaller towns are more picturesque."
Speaking of picturesque, we were driving along the southern shore of Loch Lochy. The smooth surface of the water displayed a mirror image of the cliff rising from the north shore of the loch. The sun had decided to put in an appearance, making the picture clean and sparkling.
"About getting rooms…," Arrow started, then stopped.
"The guidebook talks about several B amp; B's in Spean Bridge," I said. I was becoming an expert at this travel business.
"What I'm trying to say is, maybe we should get only one room."
That was a surprise. I didn't have a suitable answer prepared. "You mean with twin beds?" Since we were on an expense account we weren't exactly pressed for money. "What will my father and John say if we put in an expense report for only one room?"
"They won't say anything because they both think you're gay. But no, not twin beds. After all, we slept in the same bed last night."
"There were extenuating circumstances. If we did it again I would expect to be more than just a comfort to you. My male animal lust…"
"Karl, don't you like me?"
This was getting very confusing. Was she implying what it sounded like she was implying? If so, was it because she felt obligated to me? "Of course I like you." Too glib, too pat. "You are smart, and beautiful, and sexy. Of course I like you," I ended, lamely.
"But you don't want to sleep with me. I mean, you don't want to have sex with me."
I was stuck for an answer. Along with her other traits, Arrow was dangerous. Meaning that she would be easy to fall for. How did I explain that?
"Am I damaged goods? Is that the problem?"
"Of course not."
"I mean from last night. I know that getting pawed isn't in the same class as getting raped. But still…"
"It had no effect on my feelings about you." That was only a little lie. How could something like that not have some effect? "Arrow, I like you very much. But I have a girlfriend."
We were entering the village of Spean Bridge. Almost immediately, I spotted several B amp; B's off to the left, and Arrow turned at my suggestion.
"There's Larry," Arrow said, as we approached the first one.
"Larry?"
"The walker."
There he was, sitting in front of a B amp; B. Arrow stopped the car and said, "He must be staying there. So it has to be a good one."