When Old Fires Ignite

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The mist hung low, a lost soul dragging its feet to hell. Rust-coloured tendrils of dead flora fluttered.

Fire, annihilation, ashes…

Crackle and pop! The fire thrust dark smoke into the mist; ash twirled towards the heath.

Sirens echoed like loud cries, racing towards the scene to cordon the billowing fires from burning down the entire snow-clad landscape.

Death’s presence never looked beautiful, never pleasant, never serene.

‘Over here!’

Water hosed down on the burning metal, the smell assaulting the nostrils of everyone in reach.

Detective Inspector Callan Cameron watched it before him like a movie, hands shoved into his black woollen jacket, cropped hair unmoving in the breeze. The firefighters fought the icy wind, struggling to hold the hose and battle the fire.

When he’d shrugged into his jacket just half an hour ago, he hadn’t expected fire – definitely not the life-ending sort.

‘Detective!’ A woman dressed in the firefighter garb hiked over, her headgear cradled in her arms. ‘We’ll no’ get anyone alive out of that – they’ll have been dead before we got here.’

An eejit would see the flames reaching for the sky and the mushrooming smoke and come to the same conclusion.

‘Do we ken how many passengers?’

Her sharp eyes cut to the black ruins, so in tune with Callan’s clothing. ‘No, we’ll get to it once we deem it safe.’

Callan sighed. Bloody procedures. ‘Do we have a registration? A partial, at least?’

She shook her head. ‘We’re lucky the heath isn’t dry. That would’ve been a catastrophe. Who’ll be transporting the wreckage?’

‘Wreckage?’ Callan crossed his arms. ‘Tell me, what’s missing?’

When the firefighter blinked at him, Callan cursed. ‘Don’t move it until I say so. No one goes near it.’

Some people never truly saw.

His phone rang in tune with his thoughts. The caller was someone who always noticed what others missed.

‘Aileen.’

‘Where are you?’

Callan studied the burned vehicle. An arson investigator is what they needed. But they also needed him.

‘What’s that?’ Her sharp intake of breath paid testament to his previous thought. ‘Are you at a crime scene?’

He’d promised, so he opened his mouth. ‘Came across a car fire at the lay-by.’

‘Here?’

He heard her thoughts. ‘Don’t come over—’

The call cut off. Bloody hell! Who lost the plot when he hung up? And now she’d done the same thing to him.

If he’d had longer hair, he’d have pulled it out by the roots. Why date a woman who’d kill him off with worry?

Self-flagellation.

Callan stalked to his car. No time like the present to log in his statement and get to work. He always kept his badge on him.

‘Robert.’ His voice cut off any smart retort the not-so-green-anymore officer might have offered. ‘The lay-by on the service road leading to the dual carriageway. A car’s caught fire here – I found it, called it in. Get yer arse here.’

‘Er, I’m not a firefighter.’

‘How does a random car, one without a driver, sitting next to a layer of snow catch fire in a lay-by, eejit?’

A long pause echoed down the line. ‘Er—’

‘Get here. Now.’ Callan’s growl left no room for jokes. And this time, he hung up.

As if in mocking response to his command, a sedan rolled down the road. Of course, she’d respond faster than Police Constable Robert Davis.

Both were a pain in his arse.

The brunette parked the car right behind his, as if she thought he might run, then elbowed the door open.

Callan’s heart flipped, as it often did, when those fierce brown eyes caught his in the side mirror.

Long, dark brown locks fluttered in the wind as her eyes lasered in on the scene and registered shock before meeting his again. And then she was making herself comfortable in his car.

The perfume she’d spritzed smacked him first as he slid into the driver’s seat, followed by the dress that hugged her form and accentuated her figure. She turned to face him, and he swore.

Callan reached out with his thumb and swiped the lipstick from her lips. ‘You don’t need this.’

Aileen rolled her eyes. ‘It’s what women wear on dates.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘So?’

‘Don’t you want to impress me?’

‘Excuse me?’ Aileen curled her lip. ‘I can do whatever the hell I want.’

She’d sat in his car, uninvited, after making her way here, to a crime scene, when he’d asked her not to.

‘We have to cancel tonight.’

Aileen tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘How could the car have caught fire? And where’s the owner? Can it be linked to any robberies? This could be an attempt to ditch their ride.’

Sharp as a tack.

Callan shrugged. ‘None of yer business—’

‘Don’t. We’ve had enough of that now, haven’t we? And after last time…’

She reminded him of his blasted sprained leg and how she’d saved the day every time they argued, which was every day.

Callan sighed. ‘Robert will tag the SOCO team, and they’ll document the scene. We’ll have to call in an arson investigator.’

Aileen tipped her head. ‘It’s a common make and model, too. From what I can see from here, anyway.’

‘Aye.’ He flashed his teeth as an animal did before they attacked. ‘Here comes the bloody eejit.’ He rolled his window down.

His eyes devoid of humour, PC Robert Davis hurried over. ‘Ye weren’t joking then.’ He blinked at Aileen. ‘Hey!’

‘Did ye check if anyone’s reported a car missing?’

Robert pursed his lips. ‘Ms Harris did, but it was her son who’d taken it out for a joyride. He’s only fifteen.’

And he’d be reprimanded for that.

This early on, the owner might not have reported the car missing. ‘Look into any crimes in Loch Fuar and around involving a car. Let’s see if they ditched it here. Get the SOCO team to document the scene. We need pictures.’

Robert saluted him and went off to do the digging.

Callan pushed his car door open. ‘Let me see if they’re done here.’

Aileen grunted, shoulders drooping. ‘Off you go, leaving your date alone.’

‘I asked ye not to come.’

‘You need me.’

When she followed him, Callan let it go. He needed to cordon the area with police tape, so people like her kept their sleuthing eyes at bay.

The firefighter he’d spoken to earlier, the chief, nodded at him. ‘There’s not much we can do here now.’

‘Any sign of the driver? Passengers?’

She eyed Aileen. Callan waved his hands and muttered, ‘She’ll sniff it out eventually.’

Aileen elbowed his side.

‘The fire seems to have burned through the seats. Couldn’t make anything out from the rubble.’

They’d need crime scene technicians and the arson investigator as soon as possible.

When the SOCO team arrived, Callan pulled Aileen aside. ‘We need to cordon the area. Ye should head back.’

‘It smells of burning rubber and fuel.’ Aileen assessed the scene. ‘And something else – it’s foul, strange. The car’s body is intact – well, except for all that molten plastic. You know, I was investigating this case once where the man’s car caught fire.’

Callan laid a hand on her arm. ‘Darling, there’s nothing ye can do here.’

‘He was trying to burn the handwritten ledgers that incriminated him.’

What did she mean?

Aileen shoved her hair behind her shoulders. ‘It’s not always about the crime; fire can also point towards the criminal.’

‘An arson investigation will lead us to it.’

She turned to leave and stopped. ‘Callan? Whenever you’re done, come over. I’ll put something together for dinner.’

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off.

‘I’m starving, and Dachaigh’s just over those trees. If I’d’ve been paying attention, I would’ve noticed the fire.’

She could’ve and headed out to investigate before calling him. Not such a secluded spot was it, considering they were in the north-western part of Scotland where you could wander for miles and never see another human?

He nodded. ‘I’ll be over.’ And he’d pick her brains, enjoy her company while eating a home-cooked meal good enough for an emperor.

She’d humour him too, even if he knocked on her door after midnight. That was just who Aileen Mackinnon was.

No wonder he enjoyed spending time with her.

Callan swivelled towards the crime scene where the police tape now fluttered and technicians wearing white scrubs worked the scene.

He had to suit up too and address that smell.

The added garb over his woollen jacket came as a welcome respite, especially as the temperature was dropping rapidly.

He ducked under the tape and made his way to the burned car.

The fire had eaten through the front seats and left just the metal bones. Burned plastic mixed with something that pierced Callan’s nostrils and set his gut churning. The naked steering wheel hung on a destroyed dashboard. Newer makes had more plastic than the older ones and burned faster.

Behind the mask he wore, Callan braced himself. Time for the truth.

Something crunched underneath his boot. The intensity of the heat – though the metal was cooling now – smouldered against his exposed forehead and then he saw it – the reddened pink in the black.

Callan exhaled and stepped away. No wonder it stank of burned flesh – someone had died in there.

Motioning for a technician, Callan headed for his car. ‘Human remains here. Get the photographs, document the evidence, and let’s find an arson investigator. Figure out how many people were in the car. Get the evidence to the lab and run tests for DNA. We need to identify the victims.’

He moved away, letting the technicians do their jobs. They needed to find the owner of the car and figure out if they were the victim.

Callan found Robert, phone clutched to his ear and scribbling down a phone number in his notepad.

He hung up when Callan approached. ‘Number plate in the back survived.’

‘Whose car is it?’

‘Amy’s Rental and Taxi Services.’

‘A rental company? Who—’

‘They’re looking into the data. At first, they said they’d sent the car to the garage for servicing. Now they’re not so sure.’

Someone had stolen a rental and set it on fire with a human in it? Was this murder? Or a means to incite panic?

‘Keep at it. If they dinnae ken, we’ll pay them a visit. What are bloody surveillance cameras for?’

Robert crossed his arms. ‘Most rental cars will have a GPS tracker built in, right?’

Callan bunched his shoulders. He’d learned basic technology, but the intricacies of GPS were beyond him. ‘Find the name of the person who rented that car. We need to inform next of kin before the grapevine gets a wind of it. I’m heading to Dachaigh until then.’

The temperature had dropped below freezing by the time Aileen shut the back door behind her. Driving around the cluster of trees and seeing the whitewashed inn with its pastel-blue windows and door had brought a smile to her face.

Sitting here on a wee mound, in the secluded part of Loch Fuar, its tranquillity and adventure hugged her every time she approached.

And she stood to lose it all.

Her muscles bunched up at that thought, destroying her sense of contentment.

‘Aileen?’ The voice snapped her attention to the clock on the wall.

She hitched her thick jacket onto the hook and shook out her hair before striding into the dining room.

The walnut furniture gave the place a homey feel. She’d dimmed most of the lights when she’d left and piled wood on the drawing-room fire so the room was cosy for the guest reading there.

‘Hey, Bonnie!’

Dachaigh’s teenaged part-time housekeeper leaned on the mop and huffed a strand of hair off her face. She’d agreed to stay on for an extra hour or two so Aileen could go on a date. ‘How come ye’re back so early?’ she asked.

Aileen leaned her elbows on the table. Bonnie might not be a keen participant in the local rumour mill, but she loved social media. ‘Callan’s caught a case.’

A brow went up. ‘A case? And he, like, ditched ye for it?’

‘He’ll come back here after. Anyone come in while I was away?’

She’d been gone just over half an hour, but there was no harm in hoping for a shower of customers, was there?

Bonnie shook her head. ‘And I wasn’t wearing headphones, like ye asked. Oh! Er, the postman dropped that off for ye earlier – I forgot to tell ye.’

Aileen frowned at the thin, book-shaped parcel on the dining table. Almost palm size, if she stretched her fingers a bit – A5 or so. She pulled the package to her and scrunched her nose as she studied the writing on it. ‘Who the heck’s written this? This handwriting is worse than Callan’s!’

Seeing as a duck could write better than Callan, the address was practically unreadable.

She made out the ‘A’ and ‘M’, her initials, and ‘D’ for Dachaigh. Aileen stuffed it in a drawer. ‘Must be a promotional booklet or something. I’ll get to it soon enough.’ She faced Bonnie again. ‘I’m making dinner. Interested?’

‘Can’t.’ Bonnie pushed the mop. ‘I’ve got to call a friend ASAP. Boyfriend trouble.’

Aileen rolled her eyes. Wasn’t it always?

She headed for the kitchen. ‘Shout if you need anything.’

Bonnie suited Aileen well. She charged little – so Aileen could save precious pounds – and respected others’ boundaries more than most Loch Fuar citizens… Though the fact that most of your life in the small town could get published in the local newspaper said little about Bonnie’s discretionary skills.

Aileen brought out her pans and set to work. She didn’t feel like anything meaty, so she stuck to soup. It was perfect for the brutal temperatures; Callan would need the warmth.

‘Damn!’ Bonnie’s shout echoed down the corridor.

‘Bonnie?’ Aileen turned at the sound of rushing footsteps.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-I, like, legit forgot.’

Aileen tilted her head. ‘What did you do?’

‘Honestly, I-I…’ She plucked a brown wallet from her pocket and clattered it onto the table. ‘I didn’t look inside, but it was in that nice man’s room when I was cleaning it.’

‘Is he still staying with us? Why did you take the wallet out of the room?’

‘He checked out today, didn’t he?’

Realisation struck. ‘Oh, you mean Mr Macalister?’

Aileen squinted at the wallet. Its brown leather contrasted starkly with the marble countertop.

‘Strange, isn’t it? Strange he never realised it’s missing.’ Bonnie plopped onto the bar stool. ‘I think it’s loaded. It’s heavy for sure.’

Aileen shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll call him.’

‘Open it!’

‘Ever heard of privacy, Bonnie?’

‘Aw, come on!’

The leather moulded to her hand, soft like a child’s cheek. Aileen licked her lips. ‘Let me see if I have his contact details.’

She lowered the heat on the soup so it could simmer away and headed to the reception desk to check her records. Mr Macalister, it turned out, had booked his stay a day in advance.

‘Ten days starting on Hogmanay. Ah, I have his number and email.’

‘Oh my goodness.’ Bonnie smacked the desk, making Aileen jump. ‘All that cash… Phew, that’s a lot.’

‘Bonnie! I just said you weren’t supposed to—’

Bonnie leaned in. ‘Who carries this sort of cash?’

Aileen’s gaze, full of curiosity and mortification, fell on the wallet to find it was indeed stuffed with cash.

‘Some sort of doomsday prepper, maybe?’ Bonnie continued. ‘Look here, it’s only cash. There’s no licence or any cards.’ Bonnie’s eyes shone.

Aileen snapped the wallet closed and shoved it into her apron pocket. ‘Did you rake through it, then?’

The crimson in Bonnie’s cheeks gave her away. Aileen continued to glare. ‘Bonnie?’

Bonnie made her way towards the door. ‘I just remembered about my chemistry homework. I’ll see you tomorrow!’

Through the window, Aileen watched Bonnie dash away on her bike, puffing out clouds of dust behind her.

That girl was a hot mess.

Aileen had her own messes to clear up.

The wallet.

She punched in his number and listened while the phone rang and rang. Her fingers tapped along to the beat, then froze.

Mr Macalister didn’t answer.

Crap!

Aileen tried again, only to reach his voicemail.

She opened the wallet and glanced at it. ‘Who keeps £2,000 in their wallet and nothing else?’ she murmured.

She dialled a third time.

Voicemail again.

Hell!

How could she get in touch with Macalister now? Was this his secondary wallet? That would explain why he hadn’t missed it.

Email! She had his email.

Mr Macalister…

Aileen chewed her lip. She didn’t want to sound like a thief. And… and though Bonnie had found this wallet in his room, what’s saying it was actually his?

Of course it was his! Didn’t she check the guest rooms to ensure none of her guests left anything behind? And if he’d stolen it from someone, surely he’d have taken better care of it.

Aileen got back to it. Wrote the words, deleted them, wrote them again and…

Mr Macalister,

Thank you for your stay at Dachaigh Inn. Our housekeeping staff found a wallet in your room. I’ve attached the pictures for you to confirm if it is indeed yours. Please let me know so we can have it delivered to you.

Best wishes,

Aileen Mackinnon

She hit send before she overthought it.

Aileen swivelled when headlights flashed through the windows, casting long lines before lighting up the car park.

She left the wallet on the reception desk and opened the back door for her visitor.

Not an hour since she’d last seen him and his stubble seemed to have further darkened that chiselled jaw. Not an hour since she’d last seen him and her heart still skidded to a halt before dancing away at the speed of a train.

God help her with DI Callan Cameron. The man was difficult, stubborn, and crude, but…

He stepped up to her, dipped his head, and pressed his lips to hers. Strong arms wrapped her in a warm cocoon.

Handsome, smart, warm, sometimes romantic…

She grabbed his coat’s lapels and pulled him in. The light caught the rough beard and the weariness in his eyes.

Aileen stopped cold. ‘What is it?’

Callan shook his head. ‘Come here.’

He made a grab for her, but she placed a hand on his chest. ‘You found a dead body in that fire. That’s why it stank.’

He scrubbed his face. ‘Can we just unwind like we’d planned to?’

‘Don’t you have to get down to the station?’

‘There’s nothing for me to do at the moment. We dinnae ken who it is. Robert’s on it. He’ll call me as soon as he gets an ID.’

Aileen wrapped her arms around his hard torso. ‘I made soup.’

Callan took off his coat and rubbed his hands. ‘Perfect.’

She did as he asked. They set the table, then Aileen lit a few candles and ushered him to a chair.

‘Smells heavenly.’ Callan took a spoonful. ‘Gosh, ye sure ye didn’t study catering instead of accounting?’

‘I didn’t, otherwise I’d’ve cooked books.’

Callan snorted.

Aileen grinned.

Cutlery clattered, and the soup quickly vanished. When Callan pushed up from the table and stood, announcing, ‘I’ll do the dishes,’ Aileen replied, ‘I’ll dry them up,’ and followed with the plates. Her curiosity was eating her alive.

They worked in silence, Aileen’s mind puzzling out how to extract information. He’d never tell her if she just asked. But could she cajole him?

An idea formed in her mind. ‘So, there’s ice cream.’

Callan set the dish on the drying rack and faced her, cold eyes sharp. ‘I’m not telling ye.’

‘It’s your favourite kind. Now, it’s good manners to share. Surely—’

‘Aileen, it’s a police matter.’

‘And I can keep secrets.’

Callan didn’t react, so Aileen dabbed the water off the bowl she was holding. ‘And I can help. I always—’

‘Get into trouble.’ The last dish clattered onto the pile. ‘This time, I will lock ye up.’

Aileen scoffed. ‘You wouldn’t dare! And be careful with my plates!’

He descended then, a vulture diving for its prey. Callan’s kiss bruised her lips, and his hands smouldered against her waist.

‘Try it and ye’ll see.’

Aileen shrieked into his mouth when her feet left the ground. ‘Put me down! I have guests!’

‘Ye should’ve thought of that before.’

When pounding on his back didn’t work, Aileen bit him.

‘Aye, aren’t we eager? Did ye lock up?’

‘Don’t distract me!’

He lifted her like a sack of potatoes. ‘I’m just being a caring boyfriend.’

Her attacks, from her upside-down position, had little effect on him. ‘Callan!’

She’d be damned if his stupid threats scared her. Aileen pushed up, wrapped her hands around his head, and attacked him so his mind would explode. She took what she wanted; investigated what she wanted.

But she certainly never wanted to be set back on her feet, head swirling. ‘What? Come back here!’

Callan’s eyes zeroed in on something behind her.

‘What…?’ She gazed over her shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s a wallet a guest left behind.’

His wave dismissed her comment. ‘The fire. Ye could’ve seen it from here.’

‘But I was upstairs, getting ready.’

Callan’s eyes lit up. ‘Aye, but you’re here, away from the centre of town. So why would a local use this road? Why would they rent a car? Unless they were staying here.’

Her mind screeched to a halt. ‘No, no way. My guests are fine!’

‘Yer surveillance cameras—’

‘Won’t show a black car like the one at your crime scene because I don’t have a guest using such a car.’ There’d only just been enough of the car left to see its colour when she’d arrived at the crime scene.

Callan drew her face in-between his hands. ‘Banlaoch, I’m not saying it was yer guest in that car. I just think they might’ve driven from hereabouts.’

‘If—’

Callan rested his forehead against hers. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to consider the possibility that whoever it was wanted ye to come look for the fire. That somehow a killer would’ve wanted to include ye. I wouldn’t have that.’

‘Killer? You mean someone’s been murdered in that car?’

He drew her closer still. ‘I dinnae ken. But I want ye to be safe. I want to ken who that person was. And why someone set fire to a car so close to the heath?’

Fear clouded her heart. ‘If you hadn’t driven down that road sooner, the heath could’ve… The way the wind’s blowing…’

‘The rain we’ve had saved Dachaigh, not me.’

Aileen followed when he tugged her towards the stairs.

She didn’t have to be a genius to know fire loved heathland. Loved it because it would let the fire travel far and wide. Far enough to reach Dachaigh and burn her beloved inn to the ground.

Except it was January.

Crap. Did someone want her inn gone?