Moon Cursed Read Online Free PDF Page B

or so this guy said.”
    “Sir Peter Scott,” Jamaica said. “British naturalist. Plenty famous. But a plesiosaur was a reptile and so cold-blooded. Which means it wouldn’t survive in de freezing cold of de loch.”
    “There goes that theory,” Kris muttered. “So how cold is the water?”
    “Average temperature around six degrees Celsius.”
    “English, please.”
    “Dat is English.” Jamaica shook her head. “Six Celsius is … oh,” she pursed her lips, “about forty-two degrees American. You know, besides de cold, you can only see five feet down, which means you’re swimming above a great black maw of nothing.”
    “Not only cold then, but creepy.”
    Jamaica lifted her nearly empty water bottle in a toast. “No one swims in de loch unless dey had ten too many local lagers. Maybe dat was de case with your mystery friend?”
    Kris shook her head. “He didn’t taste like Guinness.”
    The sudden silence made Kris glance up, then curse. She’d actually said that out loud.
    “You kissed him?” Jamaica asked.
    “He kissed me. It was—”
    Fabulous, she thought.
    “Weird,” she said.
    Jamaica remained silent, in her eyes an expression Kris couldn’t read. She seemed both concerned and annoyed, with a bit of afraid thrown in. But none of that made any sense. Unless—
    “You know who he is now?” Kris asked.
    “Why would now be any different dan before?” Jamaica returned.
    Two customers burst in the door, and Jamaica hurried off with a “Nice talking to you” that held the distinct undertone of Get lost.
    Since Kris had just met the woman, she couldn’t say for sure what she’d seen in Jamaica’s eyes or heard in her voice. But Kris had done enough interviews to realize that answering a question with a question was almost always an attempt to hide a lie. Although why Jamaica would lie about something so minor as knowing the identity of the man who’d kissed Kris in Urquhart Castle was anyone’s guess.
    Sufficiently caffeinated, Kris went in search of lunch. Along the way, she became enchanted by the wonder of Drumnadrochit.
    Lola owned a large collection of old Hollywood musicals, and Brigadoon was one of her favorites. Kris had probably watched the movie a dozen times, and parts of Drumnadrochit had her humming “Almost like Being in Love.” She half-expected to turn a corner and find Cyd Charisse twirling and jumping along the sidewalk.
    Other parts resembled every small tourist town in America—shops, museums, tours, hotels with catchy names like The Highlander, and restaurants that advertised a “Nessie-sized breakfast.” One place in particular caught her eye.
    “The Myth Motel,” Kris read. “Museum, gift shop, rooms, and eatery. Specialty—Nessie Nuggets.” How could she pass that up? Especially since she was by now hungry enough to eat Nessie.
    Kris paused with her hand on the door, wondering if Nessie Nuggets were shaped like Nessie, something to feed to Nessie, or made of Nessie.
    She snorted. There was no Nessie. Sheesh. If she wasn’t careful she’d be sharing the delusion of everyone in Drumnadrochit. Where would Hoax Hunters be then? Where would she be?
    “Out on my ass with no place to go,” Kris muttered, and yanked open the door.
    A tall, slim man in a kilt stood just inside. His close-cropped dark hair and goatee proved a stunning contrast to his light gray eyes. “Welcome to The Myth Motel.”
    “You’re American?” Kris blurted, both startled by the lack of an accent and thrilled by it. She hadn’t heard English without an accent since she got off the plane. Sure, it had only been a day, but she missed it.
    “Technically, no.”
    Kris tilted her head and waited.
    “Raised there, born here,” he explained. “I’m Dougal Scott.”
    Kris offered her hand. “Kris Daniels.”
    They shook. He had nice hands, a good handshake. Not too soft, not too hard, and he looked directly into her face with a smile. “The writer woman?”
    Kris rolled her eyes,