MacAllister

Andrew walked over to the wall and removed the telephone from the hook. “Eight-three-two-five, please,” he said. Then, “Rosanna, he is here. Yes. We will have lunch together.”

Hanging up the phone, he turned back to Duff. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited Rosanna to have lunch with us.”

“No, not at all. I will be delighted to see her again.”

“How long can you stay in America?” Andrew asked.

“I’m never going back.”

Andrew’s expression showed his surprise at the answer. “But your fiancee,” he said.

Duff was quiet for a moment.

“Skye?” Andrew asked, the word softly spoken because he perceived that, for some reason, the name was painful to Duff.

“Skye is dead, Andrew,” Duff said. “She was murdered.”

“Oh, Duff, I am so sorry,” Andrew said. “Do they know who did it?”

“Yes, and the ones who did it have already been executed.” Duff did not say that he was their executioner.

“I am glad that they have paid for their crime. And I am glad that you have come to America. I think making a fresh start will be good for you.”

“I believe so as well.”

“We’ll have to find a place for you to stay,” Andrew said. “And, will you be looking for a job?”

“Aye. I’ve some money, but I dinna know how long it will last.”

“Good, because I know just the job for you.”

With an introduction provided by Andrew, Duff began working backstage at a major theater. He was a skilled carpenter, and he had the ability to analyze complex problems and solve them quickly. Within a month, he became a stage manager, an important and most prestigious job. And now that he was securely employed in America, he decided it was time to write to his friend Ian McGregor to tell him that all was well.

Duff MacCallister

200 West 48th Street

New York, NY

Ian McGregor

The White Horse Pub

2 Elway Lane

Donuun, Scotland

Dear Ian,

My heart is still heavy with grief from the death of my beloved Skye, the more so because I was unable to be there for her funeral. But while I was not there in person, I was there in spirit and I know that, even as she sleeps in the arms of our Lord, she is aware of the undying love I have for her. I know too that at the time of her funeral she was surrounded by those who loved her most, and I take comfort from that.

On the night I left Scotland, I secured passage on a ship bound for New York. I did so by way of working as a crew member during the voyage. It was very hard work, but the very difficulty of the work helped me to deal with the pain of losing the one who was the center of my life. I take respite in the fact that our dear Skye returned my love with equal vigor, though I shall never understand how one as unworthy as I could have won the love of such a wonderful woman.

I am now living in New York and have gone to work in the theater, the position secured for me by my cousin Andrew. We are in “pre-production” as they say, for the play “The Highlander.” I am told that it was inspired by the visit of my cousins Andrew and Rosanna to Scotland. Of course, Andrew and Rosanna are the principal players of the production.

I hold the most gratifying position as stage manager. The play will take place in the Rex, an elegant and ample theater which is on West 48th Street at Broadway. You may find this interesting, Ian. The Rex theatre is lit entirely by electricity, the installation personally supervised by the inventor Thomas Edison.

Please write to me and tell me how you are doing. With shared sorrow for the loss of our dear Skye, I remain,

Your friend,

Duff MacCallister

Chapter Seven

Scotland—Donuun in Argyllshire

Postmaster Desmond Henry walked into the office of the Lord High Sheriff Angus Somerled, clutching an envelope to his breast. Deputy Rab Malcolm looked up at him.

“Postmaster Henry, may I help you?”

“I would like to speak with the sheriff, please.”

“What do you want to see the sheriff about?”

“That would be between me and the sheriff,” the postmaster replied.

Deputy Malcolm made a guttural sound deep in his throat, then stood and walked into the back office. He returned after a moment with the sheriff.

“What is this about, Henry?” Sheriff Somerled asked.

“Is there still a reward being offered for anyone who can tell you where to find Duff MacCallister?” Henry asked.