Page 44 of Highland Getaway
I open my mouth to say I’m sure he’d have rescued her if I hadn’t, but discover I’m too flustered to speak, so I just close it again, my cheeks flaming red in spite of the cold air that’s biting into every inch of exposed skin.
‘You better get yourself inside and warm up,’ says Hunter, seeing me shiver. ‘Oh, and also,’ he goes on, with a wicked little twinkle in his eye, ‘I can see your arse through that rip in your jeans. So you might want to get changed before anyone else sees it.’
With a yelp of embarrassment, I walk backwards up the steps to the lobby, then, finding it mercifully empty, turn and run for my room, relieved to discover I’ve finally managed to memorise the route to it, just before I’m inevitably made to leave because of that stupid cucumber video.
I open the door and head straight for the closet to peel off the now-ruined jeans, which, just as Hunter said, must have been giving everyone around me an absolute eyeful; especially Hunter himself, as I raced along the beach in front of him on horseback.
Maybe it’s actually for the best that I’m probably going to be asked to leave this place sooner rather than later. Even though I have absolutely nowhere to go.
It’s only as I exit the walk-in wardrobe, fully clothed once more, that I see it.
Sitting in the exact centre of the four-poster bed, in a spot in which I definitely didn’t leave it, is the turnip I bought from Ian at the market earlier.
And sticking out the top of it is a very sharp knife.
Chapter 18
‘Knife in the turnip! Knife in the turnip!’ I shriek, barging into Hunter’s apartment a few minutes later, turnip in hand. ‘Look! There’s a knife in the turnip!’
‘There’s a what in thewhat?’ yells Hannah, jumping up from the sofa and coming running towards me, closely followed by Stevie.
‘Er, nothing,’ I say, quickly putting the turnip behind my back. ‘It’s nothing. Just a .?.?. just a joke between me and your dad.’
I shoot Hunter what I hope is a meaningful glance, and he heaves a weary sigh as he gets to his feet.
‘Hannah, can you give Rosie and me a few minutes to chat?’ he says, patting his daughter on the head as he approaches us. ‘Maybe go and do some drawing in your room?’
‘Ooh, yes,’ says Hannah. ‘I was going to do another one of Rosie, wasn’t I?’
She scampers happily off, and I produce the turnip from behind my back, holding it up so Hunter can see the knife still sticking out of the top of it.
‘Er, there’s a knife in the turnip,’ I say again, more quietly now I know Hannah’s next door. ‘See?’
‘So I gathered. That’s not a knife, though,’ says Hunter, matter-of-factly as he takes the turnip and examines it. ‘That’s a dirk.’
‘A .?.?. dirk?’ I look at him suspiciously, wondering if he’s winding me up again, like when he tried to tell me the hotel was haunted.
Which I’m starting to think itis.
‘Aye. A dirk. It’s a kind of ceremonial dagger.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s absolutelyfine, then,’ I reply, a little hysterically. ‘If I’d known it was just adirk, I wouldn’t have bothered you.’
I reach for the turnip, but he holds it up just out of my reach, even when I stand on my toes.
‘Calm down,’ he says. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘On my bed. Right in the middle. And before you say it, yes, I’m sure I was in the right room, and no, I definitely didn’t leave it like that myself. Wait, don’t do that,’ I add with a gasp, as he takes the knife – sorry, the dirk – and pulls it out of the vegetable. ‘You shouldn’t touch it; it might have fingerprints on it.’
Hunter stares at me impassively.
‘I don’t think they’re going to mobilise Scotland Yard over a turnip, Rosie,’ he says bluntly. ‘You’ve got some funny ideas about how the police work, do you know that?’
‘Oh, come on, Hunter, don’t give me that.’ I fold my arms defensively across my chest. ‘It’s notjusta turnip, is it? It’s a turnip with a kni— with a weapon stuck in it. Even you have to admit, that’s a pretty clear message, isn’t it?’
I pause, waiting for him to come up with some kind of joke about turnips, and the kind of messages they might hold, but he just walks silently over to the sofa and sits down, still looking thoughtfully at the knife; which I just can’t bring myself to think of as a ‘dirk’.
‘OK,’ he says, after a silence that seems to go on forever. ‘The missing clothes was one thing, but this .?.?. I can see why this would upset you. It’s .?.?. well, it’s not very nice, is it?’
