“Hang on,” Mack said. “I’m just going to lie back, so Dex can cuddle.”

Flora followed suit and slipped under her covers. Now that she was over her initial terror of being seen, Flora become excited. Talking on FaceTime was much easier for her than a voice-only call.

Mack lay on her side and leaned her head on her arm while Dex cuddled in at her chest. “So, um…I suppose we have to talk.”

“Yes, I looked at the newspaper stories like you told me, but I know that’s not the full story,” Flora said.

“Not even close. Have you got time for a story?”

“Of course, I want to know. I want to understand you.”

Mack smiled back at her. “Okay. You asked for it. There’s a family called the McDades. Back in 1900, two friends came over to Scotland from Ireland, as a lot of Irish did back then. Malcolm McDade and Patrick Sharkey.”

“Your ancestor,” Flora jumped in.

“Aye, the first Sharkey to live in Glasgow. So the best friends were dirt poor. They thought they were coming to a better life, but back then Catholics didn’t get the best of jobs.”

Flora knew this only too well. Sectarianism between Catholics and Protestants had blighted the west of Scotland for generations, and for the longest time Catholics were seen as second-class citizens. She herself had come from a Protestant background, although they were never churchgoers, and her grandpa hated that kind of discrimination.

“Yes, I know it was hard for Catholics back then.”

“Aye, it was tough. With families to support, they both got involved with the criminal underworld of the city. They did well and made a name for themselves, until they came up against one of the biggest gangs in the city, the Munros.”

“That name’s familiar.”

“Yeah, they were linked to a police officer’s murder, in the seventies. Six months later, Davey Munro’s son Stewart was taken for a walk in the hills.”

“What does that mean?” Flora asked.

“If you die after a walk in the hills or a fishing trip, that’s code for the police did ye in.”

Flora was shocked. “What? The police would kill someone in retribution?”

Mack smiled softly. “You really are innocent, little mouse.”

Flora’s stomach flipped at Mack’s use of her cute nickname for her, and it made her rub the tip of her nose and discreetly tap out her ritual.

“Aye, they did,” Mack said, “especially back then. Anyway, long story short, years later, Malcolm McDade took money from the Munros to lure Patrick to a place where the Munros would execute him.”

“I thought they were friends.”

“They were—that’s why the betrayal cut so deep. Malcolm thought Patrick was getting a bit too powerful in the city. It was jealousy.”