Page 49 of The Highland Bad Boy

My curiosity flares, and I lean forwards. “So, what’s in here, then?”

“Doesn’t involve you, Cat,” Robbie says.

That stings a bit, but I don’t back down. “I believed you were innocent from the start,” I remind him. “And I’ve been doing my own digging, trying to help.” I glance at David. “I even set up a cork board at home, to track suspects and motives.”

He nods approvingly. “That’s what I call commitment.”

Robbie snorts, and David fixes him with an unamused look then folds his arms. “Stop trying to scare her off, Robbie. You need to let people help you. I know you’re not half as scary as you pretend to be, and I reckon Cat knows that too.”

“I do.”

Robbie stares at me—a bit suspicious at first—but then his face softens, only for half a second. Blink and you’d miss it.

“Okay. I’ll let you lot help.”

David puts down his coffee and claps his hands together with delight. “Brilliant! Let’s get stuck in.” He opens the file, and we all scoot closer, studying its contents. It’s a collection of records—keycard data, rotas, maintenance logs, that kind of thing. Bits and pieces that Johnny must have thought might help us figure out what really happened.

“This is great!” I exclaim. “If I’d known we were going to be working on this, I’d have taken the cork board with me. Probably makes more sense for you to have it anyway, Robbie.”

He doesn’t bother to respond to that. Instead he jabs a finger at the keycard records. “According to these, I accessed the rooms in question when the items went missing, even though I didn’t.” His lips form a grim line. “But how am I supposed to argue with them?”

“Whoever framed you must have messed up somewhere,” David says. “We just need to keep looking.”

We examine the maintenance logs and the staff rotas, sipping our coffees. Occasionally David or I ask Robbie to decipher some abbreviation or other.

“Well, according to these, Samantha was working on all three days,” Robbie says after a while. “Then again, a lot of people were, so that doesn’t mean much.”

“It means we’ve got reason to keep her as a suspect,” I say. “That’s something.”

Robbie and I give David a quick summary of why Samantha is at the top of our list. When we’re done, he nods. “Definite motives there.”

“Aye, but still a complete lack of proof.” Robbie flips to the next page, and as he does, a folded note slips out and flutters to the floor.

I grab it and scan it.

Robbie,

I hate that I can’t be there for you right now, but I hope something here helps. Know that I’m on your side. Be careful and stay strong.

Johnny

P.S. Destroy this note after reading it. It’s safer that way.

I hand the note to Robbie, who reads it then slips it into his pocket.

“Johnny asked you to destroy that.”

“Aye, I’ll get rid of it soon.”

I wonder if he’s in no hurry to let go of the only scrap of contact he’s had from his brother lately.

We top up our coffees and pore over the paperwork some more, but there’s no dramatic breakthrough. No dazzling clues. Just more frustration.

Eventually Robbie snaps the file shut and rubs a hand over his jaw. “Nothing. It was a great idea Johnny had, sending us this stuff, but we’re no further forward and I don’t know where we go from here.”

He practically deflates in the armchair, his usual scowl replaced by something almost vulnerable.

“Any bright ideas?” I ask David, willing him to come up with something—anything—that might lift Robbie’s mood.