Deadly Cairns

CHAPTER 4 THE ENGAGEMENT

CHAPTER 4 THE ENGAGEMENT

The heating clicked off with a final wheeze just as Brian spread a towel across the floral bedspread. He hunched over his drone like a surgeon, cotton swab in hand, meticulously polishing each propeller blade. Every few seconds, he'd purse his lips and blow away specks of dust only he could see. Meanwhile, I curled into the room's lone armchair – a sagging floral monstrosity that matched everything else – and balanced my laptop on my knees, clicking through local news sites without any clear idea what I was searching for.

"I've missed you, my precious," Brian cooed to his drone. "Did the nasty man scare you? Did he make Daddy put you away for days and days?"

"Are you actually talking to your drone?" I asked, not looking up from my screen.

"You talk to your camera."

"I don't call myself 'Mummy' when I do."

Brian sniffed indignantly. "It's been traumatised. It needs reassurance."

"It's a machine, Brian."

"Says the woman who names her camera lenses."

He had a point.

I went back to browsing local news. It was the usual small-town stuff: a village fete in Cullen with a 'record-breaking' forty-seven people, a missing tabby cat named Mr Whiskers who came home after two days, and a baking contest that sparked a minor scandal because last year's winner was one of the judges.

"Anything interesting?" Brian asked, holding a propeller up to the light to inspect it.

"Not unless you count Mrs MacTavish's 'revolutionary' approach to shortbread," I replied, scrolling past yet another community announcement. "Although there is a pub quiz at The Fisherman's Rest tomorrow night. First prize is a meal for two."

"Food," Brian perked up. "Is there a vegan option?"

"It just says 'meal for two.' Knowing Scottish pubs, I'd prepare yourself for haggis and disappointment."

I clicked through to the local wedding announcements. Most showed smiling couples in front of castles, on beaches at sunset, or in gardens cutting fancy cakes with ceremonial swords. Then I paused.

"Brian."

"Hmm?" He was now applying some kind of lubricant to the drone's hinges with a cotton bud, his tongue poking out in concentration.

"Look at this."

He let out a dramatic sigh but put down his drone kit and looked over my shoulder. On the screen was a photo of DC Murray, the same awkward-looking officer from the article, standing next to a petite woman with a bright smile. The headline read, "Local Detective and Primary School Teacher Announce Wedding."

"It's the mid-blink police officer," Brian observed. "So?"

I pointed to the comments section beneath the announcement. Someone named Iona Murray-soon-to-be had posted: "Still looking for a new wedding photographer as ours has just cancelled! Please share recommendations!"

"No," Brian said immediately, backing away as if the laptop might bite him. "Whatever you're thinking, absolutely not."

I turned to him, trying to look innocent. "What? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. I know that look. That's your 'I've had a terrible idea that will probably get us arrested or killed' look."

I closed the laptop and got to my feet. "This is perfect, Brian. Let's offer them a trial photoshoot."

"Us?" Brian squeaked. "I don't recall signing up for your amateur detective agency. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not a wedding photographer."

"I photographed my cousin's wedding."

"You took a few blurry photos on your phone after three glasses of prosecco!"

I waved away his objection. "Details. The point is, this gives us a real reason to talk to the police about the case."

Brian looked like he'd swallowed something sharp. "You want to trick the police? The actual police? The people who can arrest us for... I don't know, obstruction of justice or impersonating wedding photographers or something?"

I was already reaching for my phone. "Is impersonating a wedding photographer actually a crime?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out!" Brian lunged for my phone, but I sidestepped him easily. "Jo, please don't do this. Please, please, please."

I found the number from the wedding announcement and called before Brian could protest again. He started miming, running his finger across his throat, then letting his hands shake imaginary bars and mouthing "PRISON" at me.

The phone rang three times before a cheerful voice answered. "Hello? DC Murray speaking."

"Hello, DC Murray. My name is Joana, I'm a photographer currently working in the area, and I noticed your fiancée's post about needing a wedding photographer."

Brian was now wildly pretending to put on handcuffs and mouthing a silent 'help'.

"Oh! Yes! Hello!" Murray sounded truly delighted. "That's right, our photographer cancelled, and now we're in a bit of a pickle jar."

I stopped for a moment, confused by the phrase. "A... pickle jar?"

"Yes, you know, when you're stuck between a rock and a slippery place."

"Ah, yes, right." I began to understand him. "Well, I specialise in candid, natural photography, and I happened to be in Scotland for the summer working on a travel book. I'd be happy to help out if the timing works."

Brian had given up on mime and was now silently banging his head against the wall.

"That would be absolutely fantastic!" Murray exclaimed.

"Can I ask what happened with your original photographer?" I tried to sound less nosy than I actually was.

Murray let out a sigh. "Family emergency, apparently. All very dramatic. Got a call three days ago – off to Australia, just like that. But Iona, my fiancée, reckons it's because I'm unphotographable."

"Unphotographable?"

"Yes. She says you can't get a photo of me without my mouth going crooked or at least one eye shut. It's been that way since I was a wee lad. School photos were a disaster. Mum always said I looked like I was mid-stroke in every single one."

I held back a laugh, thinking of the mid-blink photo from the news article. "I'm sure that's not true. Anyone can look good in a photo; you just need the right angle and timing."

"That's what I told her!" Murray sounded relieved to find an ally. "But she's convinced I scared the photographer away with my 'unphotogenic aura,' as she calls it."

I hesitated, then offered, "We could try a test shoot, if you like. No pressure, no commitment. You and Iona can see what you think of the photos, and if my style suits you."

Brian slumped to the floor, his head in his hands, clearly defeated.

"That sounds marvellous!" Murray exclaimed. "Like killing two birds with one stone. Or maybe, taking two photos with one camera, I suppose. Less violent."

His odd turn of phrases made me smile. "How about tomorrow? I know a lovely garden just outside Aberdeen that would be perfect for couple photos."

We sorted out the details, and I ended the call, quietly satisfied. Brian, however, stared at me as if I'd suggested we break into a museum after hours.

"We are going to prison," he moaned. "Or worse, we're going to get murdered by the real drone killer who is still out there, who targets photographers, which we are, and who the police haven't caught because we're tricking the police into thinking we're wedding photographers instead of letting them do their jobs."

"That was quite impressive," I said. "Did you breathe at all during that sentence?"

"Not funny, Jo! The police, Jo! You want to lie to the actual police with actual handcuffs and actual jail cells!"

"I'm not lying about who I am." I fiddled with my phone. " I take pictures for money. That's literally the definition of a photographer. Plus the tiny wedding bit. Who cares about those details."

He hauled himself off the floor and flopped onto the bed, nearly knocking over his half-assembled drone. His head sank into his hands. "This is how it always goes. One minute we're taking innocent travel photos, the next we're tangled in some... some..."

"Thrilling escapade?" I offered.

"Catastrophic mess," he muttered through his fingers.

I tried not to smile. "Same difference."