Candles and Roses by Alex Walters Page B

time to reach the cave and get back in time for lunch.
    In due course, the woodland gave way to a line of rough sandstone cliffs, slowly being eroded by the weather and the tides. Craig had once found a small ammonite fossil among the rocks here, and he knew that more serious fossil hunters visited the Eathie cliffs further up the coast. Maybe that was something he should do with Fraser when the boy was older.
    He didn’t really know the history of their destination, Caird’s Cave, except that, according to the exhibit in the beachside cafe, it had been the source of various prehistoric finds and that, remarkably, it had been used as a dwelling until the early part of the twentieth-century. It was difficult to imagine what it would be like living in such an exposed location, yards from the roaring sea.
    The cave itself was set back from the beach, its entrance a broad archway in the cliff-side set among the surrounding undergrowth. As Craig recalled, there wasn’t actually a great deal to the place, but he knew that, with a few judicious stories, he could make it seem exciting enough for Fraser.
    As Craig led the way up the narrow footpath towards the entrance, Fraser clutched his hand nervously, gazing up at the dark space beyond.
    ‘A home for smugglers and pirates,’ Craig said, in what he intended loosely to be a pirate voice. ‘Let’s see if we can find any of their buried booty, landlubber—’ He stopped. He couldn’t fully make out what he was seeing at first but it was sufficiently disturbing for him, almost involuntarily, to move Fraser behind him. But it was, of course, too late.
    ‘What’s that, dad? Is it booty?’
    ‘Look, just wait there a sec while I check. I don’t want us to get captured by pirates.’ He prised himself free of Fraser’s clutching hand and took another few steps forward. He could sense that Fraser was reluctant to be left behind, but Craig wanted to be sure.
    He crouched and peered into the gloom and, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see four black candlesticks, complete with unlit candles, and four black vases of red roses, set in a rectangle. Between the candles and roses, there was a dark elongated bundle, something wrapped in a heavy sheet or tarpaulin. Craig already had little doubt what it was.
    He turned back to where Fraser was still standing, hanging back nervously from the cave entrance.
    ‘The pirates have already been, Fraser,’ Craig said, his mouth dry. ‘I think we’d better call the police.’
     
    ***
     
    It was only once the front door had closed behind them that McKay realised how tense he’d been feeling. ‘Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder she left home.’
    Horton watched in amusement as he unwrapped a stick of gum, pushed it into his mouth and began to chew furiously. She could see what he wanted more than anything, at that moment, was a cigarette.
    ‘Cut them some slack,’ she said. ‘You can never tell how people will respond to news like that.’
    ‘Ach.’ He stomped down the garden path. ‘That old bastard couldn’t give a bugger about the poor lass. Either of the poor lassies. We were just interrupting his viewing of Countdown .’
    ‘I’m not sure that’s entirely fair—’ The Scotts’ bungalow was on a slightly bleak residential estate just outside the village. Horton could almost feel the net curtains twitching as they returned to the car.
    ‘Bloody God-botherer,’ McKay continued. ‘God’s fucking judgement, for Christ’s sake.’
    ‘OK, I get the point.’ Horton looked at McKay across the roof of the car. ‘What about the wife, though? What did you make of her?’
    McKay took a breath. ‘Aye, that was interesting. She knew a few things the old man didn’t.’
    ‘That was my impression. As if she’d been in touch with her daughter more recently than she was letting on.’
    ‘My guess is Scott won’t be keen on us talking to them separately. But I think we should.’
    They climbed into the car. McKay