Allegra Fairweather_ Paranormal Investigator - Janni Nell [75]
Taking her arm, I said, “Let’s go.”
I was so focused on getting out of the pub in one piece that I forgot my jacket. Two steps up the street I started shivering.
Mrs. Ferguson patted my hand. “Ye can warm yeself at my place. The brownies will have the fire lit.”
Wishing I could take some brownies back across the Atlantic with me, I matched my pace to Mrs. Ferguson’s. She was spry for her age, but she was so much shorter than me that even if we’d been the same age her strides wouldn’t have kept up with mine.
“I hope ye’ll forgive the villagers. They dinnae have anything against ye. But, after the deaths of McEwen and Malcolm, they’re frightened. Ye became a magnet for that fear.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been in worse situations.”
She gave a short laugh. “I’m sure ye have. I’ll bet ye lead an exciting life.”
“If you call facing danger and death exciting.”
“At least ye know ye’re alive. I’ve felt dead for years. Ever since Edwin passed on.”
“But not anymore,” I said remembering the sparkle in her eyes when she was on her way to visit Dr. Williamson.
“I think I’ve found a reason to live.” Her voice sounded as though she was smiling.
“I’m glad.”
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Ferguson, stepping onto the path that led to her front door. Inside I could see the flickering light of a freshly lit fire.
“I wonder how much it would cost to convince those brownies to come home with me.”
She laughed. “Now, lassie, ye know they dinnae work for money.”
“I guess there really are things money can’t buy.”
She nodded and unlocked her front door. “Ye know, I remember a time when I could leave my door unlocked and return home to find everything just as I’d left it. It’s sad how things have changed, but I suppose we must adapt to them. Come in. Come in. Sit ye near the fire. Ye shouldn’t have come out without a jacket.”
I sank into one of her armchairs and stretched my feet toward the fire.
“I think,” she said, “we need a wee dram to fortify us after that scene in Mac’s.” She poured two shots of whiskey and handed one to me.
“It nearly got ugly.” I sipped the whiskey.
She gave a mischievous grin. “Do ye think Phillips ran all the way home?”
“I hope so.” We both laughed.
She held her hands out to the fire and asked, “How’s that nice young laddie, Casper?”
“He’s fine.”
“Ye want to hang on to him. He’s one in a million.”
“He is that.” Then, trying to steer the conversation away from Casper and, quite frankly, glad to give her a taste of her own medicine, I said, “Tell me about your new man.”
Her blush made her look twenty years younger. “Och, Dr. Williamson and I are just good friends.”
“I don’t believe you,” I teased.
“It’s true. We’ve never even kissed. I’m not sure he likes me in that way. I’m a lot older than he is.” She toyed with her glass. “What do ye think of him, Allegra? Be honest.”
“He seems nice,” I said, “although I don’t know him well.”
She immediately offered to remedy that by inviting us both to dinner. That’s when we heard the banshee.
Mrs. Ferguson dropped her glass. Some of the whiskey splashed on the fire. Flames swelled, sending sparks up the chimney.
Outside, the banshee screamed. It sounded as though it was circling the house. Prowling. As its scream reached a crescendo, the house trembled on its foundations. Mrs. Ferguson covered her ears and I wrapped my arms around her. I’m sure we were both thinking the same thing—that the banshee had come for her.
Abruptly the noise stopped. We let out a collective sigh of relief. When I looked at Mrs. Ferguson again, she was clutching her chest.
“Should I call Dr. Williamson?” I asked.
“No. I’m all right.” She asked me to refill her glass. When I pressed it into her hands, I felt them shaking. “I suppose the banshee’s come for me,” she said and drained her glass. “For years I’ve longed for death and now it’s come I’m not ready.”
“You may not be the one it’s come for.”
“Ye’re thinking of Stuart MacDuff,” she said.
I nodded. “The last of The Three M’s. It makes sense.”
“I hope for Anne’s sake it’s not Stuart. Better