Fifty
“Hello, Tom.”
Guthrie’s phone was on his kitchen countertop. Alisdair was on speaker so Guthrie could unwrap the fish supper he had picked up.
Once he got on the road, his mind started racing with everything he had gone through over the past week. Before he realised where he was, he was on the outskirts of Broughty Ferry.
The rain had also given up early and had eased to a drizzle by the time he arrived back at the flat. Since Murray’s was just around the corner, he decided to park the car and walk to get a carry out. By the time he returned to the flat, the package was still hot.
“Alisdair. Tell me about your afternoon.” He fiddled with the grease-proof paper. Steam rose as he opened it, the smell triggered loud rumblings from his stomach.
“Oh. Nothing much to report, Tom. I w
