J.T. Ellison - Where All the Dead Lie

She felt unencumbered and happy, realized that for the first time since the shooting, she didn’t have that sense of doom hanging over her head. Well, that was worth the trip overseas in and of itself.

Baldwin would be worrying about her. She sent him a quick text. She decided not to go into detail, said things were fine, sent him love. No sense telling him Memphis had sung her to sleep, or that she’d just opened her heart to a stranger. That wouldn’t be productive.

She poured a fresh cup of tea and waited. Sure enough, within five minutes, Memphis came to get her, smiling widely.

“Head properly shrunk?” he asked.

She missed the ease of the laptop. Her notebook communication seemed so much slower.

You put it so nicely. Yes, we had a good session. You’re right, Maddee’s very good.

“Told you. Now, grab your coat and your boots. I’m taking you on a little excursion. You got to show me your Nashville, now it’s high time I give you a taste of my roots in return.”

Taylor waited patiently at the back door for Memphis to retrieve his vehicle. The day was brisk, clouds scuttering through a grayish-blue sky, the threat of precipitation imminent. Rain first, then as the temperature dropped and the air turned colder, snow. Memphis wanted to be back before three, sunset was at three-thirty this far north, and the snow was going to kick in by then.

She heard the engine of the car roar, and wondered what sort of surprise Memphis had in store for her now. She loved cars. It was one of the few things she and her father had in common. Though she chose to drive a truck at home, a good engine could get her heart racing just as much as Baldwin’s touch. She took a second to send him another text, telling him she’d be out of range for the rest of the day. He would touch base when he had the time. She’d tried twice, which was all that mattered.

The roar of the engine grew louder, accompanied by the tires crunching on the soft, loose stone gravel that made up the parking lot surrounding the castle. She almost gasped when the car came into view. Memphis was driving a pristine dark gray Aston Martin DB9. She knew off the top of her head that it retailed for over $180,000.

She didn’t care about the driver, she just wanted to get in and let that car take her wherever it wanted to go.

Memphis pulled to a stop, then got out and grinned. “Like her?”

You know I do. A bit flashy for you though, isn’t she?

“My one indulgence. And I can hardly drive around London with her. It wouldn’t send the right message to the people I work with. I have to leave her here. Are you ready to take a drive?”

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

She didn’t hesitate.

You bet.

She took three steps down the stairs, put her hands in the pocket of her jacket to warm them. As she reached the last step, a sharp pain in her middle finger made her gasp. She whipped her left hand out of the jacket pocket, shocked to see she was bleeding.

“Ouch!” She’d blurted it out without thinking.

Memphis was at her side immediately. “Whoa, what happened?”

She stared at the cut on her finger. It looked like something was stuck in the wound. Memphis grabbed her hand, twisting it to and fro, then handed her a handkerchief.

“I must need bins, I don’t see anything in there.”

She tried dotting the blood but felt another searing pain. At a loss for what to do, she shrugged and stuck the offended digit into her mouth. She used her tongue to feel the cut. There was a hard chunk of something in it. Gently, lightly biting and sucking, she maneuvered it free. She pulled it from her mouth with her fingers, relieved that the sharp pain diminished.

“What is that?” Memphis asked.

Thank goodness it was her left hand: writing would be a pain with an open wound.

Glass, I think. In the pocket of my jacket.

Concern prominent on his face, Memphis bustled her back inside, made her take off the jacket. Trixie was in the next room; Taylor could hear her dressing down one of the serving maids. Memphis called for her. When she arrived, he sent her to the medicine kit for a plaster. Then he took Taylor’s coat and turned the pocket inside out.

There was a fine layer of shiny grit lining the pocket. In the hall light it was easy to see the miniature shards of glass.

“What in the hell?” he said. “How could that have happened? This is a brand-new coat. It was just delivered yesterday. Damn, I can’t get all this out.”

Taylor was still sucking on her finger.

Some sort of mistake in the factory, probably.

“Look at this. There’s actually a cut in the lining. They’re going to have a very unhappy call from me this afternoon. I’ll just be a moment.”

He hurried into another room, was gone for a few minutes. He and Trixie arrived back at the same time, she holding a plaster and bottle of antiseptic cream, Memphis carrying a tattered brown canvas jacket with a thick flannel lining.

“Here you go. This is one of mine. You can wear it today, it should keep you warm enough.”

They got Taylor all fixed up, making much too big a deal out of the tiny cut. Trixie seemed especially upset by the matter, as if she’d had control of the coat arriving from the store ruined. She told Memphis she’d handle getting a replacement straightaway, then disappeared with the offending garment tucked under her arm like a dead duck. Taylor realized she hadn’t made eye contact, and thought that was strange. Maybe Trixie knew Memphis had made a late-night visit to her room and disapproved. Maybe she’d put the ground glass in Taylor’s pocket to warn her off.

Oh, that was crazy. It was obviously just a mistake at the factory, or the shipping company. Some glass broke near the box, that was all.

Bandaged and redressed, they tried again. Taylor was less flustered about it all than Memphis, who was growling as loudly as his car’s engine.

The seats of the Aston Martin were soft dove-gray leather, and she angled herself in, feeling foolish for causing such a stir. It was bizarre, the glass, but hardly a capital offense.

Their second attempt was more successful than the first. Ten minutes later, Memphis turned onto the A9, heading toward Inverness.

Memphis chatted, desultorily, of the land around them. Taylor was struck by the stark beauty, the ever-changing landscape that snuck from hills to mountains to lochs to forests at a dizzying rate. The road signs made her laugh. They were so very helpful. Her favorite read Tiredness Kills, Take A Break. There was an area of ruined trees, akin to what she was used to seeing at home when a tornado moved through. Memphis explained that they’d recently had a century storm, with gale force winds and drifting snow.

As they drove higher, the clouds came down and kissed the tops of the mountains. A falcon perched on the lay-by sign, gloomily watching the cars pass. His dejected look made Taylor sad. Something just didn’t feel right about all of this. It was beautiful, and a treat, but she really should be in Nashville, dealing with her life instead of running away from it. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea after all. Though her morning with Maddee had been full of revelations, making herself so available to Memphis, leading him into thinking that she was here for more than just a rest, was going to get her in trouble.

Oh, stop it already, Taylor. Getting a little cut on your finger isn’t worth ruining your mood. You haven’t done a single thing wrong. It is high time you stop punishing yourself .

Memphis doled out bits of history to her as they passed by various landmarks. After twenty minutes, he took a round about and exited off to the north, toward a place called Grantown-on-Spey. She loved the name. So very Scottish. That cheered her up. The town itself came into view, a lovely resort village. She could smell smoke and peat from the fire places. It was obviously an affluent area; the architecture was some of the finest she’d seen. The roads were well paved, and the whole town was done up for Christmas. It looked quite elegant. Memphis explained that this was a prime water sports and caravanning spot. But in the winter, it curled in on itself like a dead leaf, waiting for the warmer weather to break it free.