“Fine! I’ll have a bloody starter!” Logan told him. “We can all have starters. Starters for everyone. Happy?”
Ben nodded to confirm that he was, then turned his attention back to the menu.
There was silence while they all read through the list of dishes that were on offer.
It didn’t last for long.
“And what about puddings?” Ben wondered. He turned the menu over, then looked around at the others. “Is it just me, or is anyone else fancying a wee pudding?”
Once the food was ordered—starters and mains for everyone, and they’d decide on the dessert options once they saw how hungry they still were at the end—the conversation began in earnest.
It wasn’t all business. Not right away. To Tyler and Hamza’s relief, it didn’t loop straight back to the whole ‘burning caravan’ situation, either.
Instead, Logan and Sinead talked about their trip the previous day—about the road, and the vomiting, and the encounter with the inimitable Kathryn Chegwin, who they all agreed sounded like an absolute belter.
“So, what, like they’re all shagging each other?” asked Tyler, his eyes wide. “In the tents? They’re all at it with each other?”
“Apparently so, aye,” Logan confirmed.
“Like everyone? Like everyone all the time?”
“I don’t know the details, son. I’ve no’ been watching them, but so the old woman claimed, aye.”
“Do not even think about suggesting you go in undercover,” Sinead warned, which earned a laugh from the others.
“I mean, I wouldn’t want to, obviously, but sometimes you’ve got to take one for the team,” Tyler replied. “It’s a hell of a job, but I suppose someone’s got to do it.”
“I can just imagine your face if old Cheggers turned up at your tent with her shotgun,” Sinead said, smirking at the thought. “Not sure you’d be up for taking that one for the team.”
Tyler shuddered. He might not have met the woman, but their description of her had been vivid enough that he felt like he had.
“Aye. Maybe best getting someone else for that job, now that I think about it.”
The drinks arrived—all non-alcoholic—and Logan waited until the barman had left before continuing with the recap.
He told them about the ‘acolytes’ gathered at the lighthouse, about his conversation with André Douville, and the contradictions that had arisen when talking to Kathryn Chegwin later.
“So, he’s saying that having a random nutter ranting and raving at his gate didn’t affect business, but she’s saying that it did?” Ben said, checking he had it all straight.
“Aye. He told us Bernie’s protests had no impact. The neighbour disagreed,” Logan confirmed. “I asked him about it today and he doubled down. Admitted that attendance wasn’t what it was, but denied it was anything to do with Bernie. He reckons it was just the bloody… I don’t know. The whims of the Universe, or some shite.”
“You think Bernie was costing him money?”
“I do. When I pressed him on it, he said he and Bernie had kissed and made up,” Logan said, then he remembered that Tyler was sitting at the table. “No’ literally. Metaphorically. He said Bernie phoned him up two or three weeks back and asked for his help.”
“His help? After going out of his way to badmouth him and screw him over?” Sinead asked. “Doesn’t sound likely. What sort of help was he looking for?”
“Some magic ghost nonsense,” Logan said. “He’s claiming that Bernie wanted him to contact someone who’d died. Wouldn’t say who.”
“And did he?” asked Ben. “Contact them, I mean.”
Logan tutted. “Of course he bloody didn’t! He might look like Jesus, but there the similarities end. He’s a conman selling woo-woo to the gullible. He’s no more in touch with the dead than I am.”
“Are we treating André as a suspect?” Sinead asked.
“I don’t see how we couldn’t,” Logan replied. “He’s certainly got the motive. Stronger than the MSP, even. Though, I’m not ruling that bastard out, either.”
The starters arrived before Logan could explain further. They all leaned back from the table as their plates were placed in front of them, and all oohed and aahed at the sights and smells being presented.
Taggart emerged from under the table, already working on the puppy dog eyes and the tilt of the head that he hoped would earn him a share of everyone’s grub.