A Small Death in the Great Glen Read Online Free Page B

back to the office, a thin mist shrouding him, he hunched his shoulders and pulled down his hat against rain and melancholy and the knowledge that Jamie’s parents had now entered the realm of the half people—parents who bury a child.

    Rob decided that a motorbike was essential to life as a star reporter. His mother’s respectable gray Wolseley was a woman’s car; he couldn’t keep borrowing it.
    â€œI’ll be twenty-one next year”—as though that made him anadult—“I’ll buy the bike myself,” he told his parents, and gave a solemn promise to never drive with a drink in him and never to use the bike if there was even a hint of black ice. They capitulated.
    Saturday was a half day at the
Highland Gazette,
but not for part-timer Joanne. She had Fridays and Saturdays off and was usually scrubbing floors, catching up on the washing, weeding the vegetables or plucking a chicken for the Sunday dinner at this time of the week. This morning, however, she was at the office early to meet Rob, who was off to chase the story of the missing sailor—at least that’s what he told Don. But first, they were hoping to buy a motorbike. And it was Don, Rob reasoned, who had taught him to never let the facts get in the way of a good story.
    Joanne knew about motorbikes. She’d been a dispatch rider in the uncertain days of 1944. She knew a surprising amount about the internal combustion engine.
    â€œThe most important thing is—”
    â€œCarry a spare spark plug! I know,” said Rob.
    They drove to the outskirts of the town. ’Round the back of the bungalow belonging to an usher at the magistrates’ court gleamed a red Triumph 650. Rob walked around it a few times admiring the color. Trying to look knowledgeable, he sat on it, barely hiding his longing.
    â€œHop on the back, I’ll take ye for a drive,” the owner offered.
    â€œCould Joanne take it out? She’s the friend I was telling you about. The one from the army.”
    â€œYou niver said anything about your soldier friend being a lassie.”
    Joanne quickly launched into a technical spiel, asking all the right questions about cylinders, carburetor, power-to-weight ratio, then got down on her haunches to inspect the engine. Rob fooled around with the usher’s three children in the back garden,staying well clear of the discussions. Then they mounted the bike, Joanne driving, heading out toward Culloden to see how it handled the hills and bends.
    After she had some fun putting a few scares into him, Joanne shouted over her shoulder, “This is a great bike, immaculate condition, as we in the classifieds would say.”
    Rob left her to strike the deal. His role was to hand over the cash.
    â€œYou owe me one. I’ll add it to the ever-growing list,” Joanne reminded him.
    â€œYou can always borrow my bike.”
    â€œI’ll hold you to that, but meanwhile babysitting would be a good payback.”
    â€œDon’t you need someone for tonight? You’re off to the Highland Ball, aren’t you?”
    â€œThanks, but I’m fixed. The girls are going to my sister’s. They love being with their cousins, so it’s fine.”
    They waved their cheerios. Rob roared off on his new Triumph. Joanne drove the McLeans’ car back, looking forward to a chat and a cup of tea with Rob’s mother.

    The tip had come from Don McLeod. As ever.
    â€œRight, laddie, I’ve set it up, just mention my name.”
    â€œGreat, I’m looking forward to a run on the new bike.”
    â€œWhy you want to go chasing after some Polish seaman is beyond me; he’ll be just another manny wanting to get out of his country—not that I blame him.”
    â€œMcAllister wants some human interest stories.”
    â€œThis is a weekly newspaper, not some women’s sob-sheet,” Don shouted. But too late—Rob’s motorbike boots could be heard at the