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trunk. Nothing budged. Then he fished his keys out of his coat pocket.
    “What the hell, right?”
    “What the hell is right,” she said. “It’s either that or walk. And I live eight miles from here.”
    “Well, I could drive you.” He slipped his key in – and it worked.
    “Wow,” she said. “That’s weird. Though now that you mention it …”
    “What?”
    “I probably shouldn’t drive.”
    He chuckled. “C’mon. Where do you live?”
    She picked up a handful of tux and started heading towards the only other Subaru in the lot. “South Hills. Mt Lebanon.”
    “It’s right on my way.”
    “Really? Where do you live?”
    “The North Side.”
    “That’s nowhere close.”
    “Depends how you define ‘on my way’. I have to circle the city three times before I can sleep. I’m very doglike in that way.”
    His car was white, just like hers.
    “Best colour,” she said, pulling up to the passenger door. “Best colour, best car.”
    He leaned down to unlock her side. “What the hell?”
    “What?”
    “Now my key doesn’t work.” He dropped his armload on the trunk again.
    “Well, I suppose we could use your key to drive my car to my house.”
    “Give me your keys.”
    She put them in his hand.
    “Cross your fingers,” he said.
    She did. And the door opened. Like magic.

MacDuff’s Secret
    Sandy Blair
    One
    Edinburgh, Scotland
    Present day
    How bad could it be?
    That was Sarah Colbert’s only thought when Mr Morrow, the leader of their school’s tour group, had announced he was ill and that she, alone, would be taking their unruly crew of sixth graders on their first tour of Edinburgh. Eyeing her five jostling charges in the Hotel Balmoral lobby she now prayed they’d be better behaved than they usually were in class.
    Her gaze settled on the tall lanky heir to Elgin Aircraft Industries standing in the back. “Mr Elgin, where’s your windbreaker?”
    “Aww, come on, Miss Colbert.”
    “Mr Elgin, you know the rules.”
    While Peter grumbled and dug inside his backpack for the bright yellow windbreaker each student had to wear on every field trip so their chaperons didn’t lose sight of them, Bryce Allen, the son of movie mogul Mike Allen, cuffed him on the head and started bouncing around like a prize fighter. Not to be outdone, Jeremy Babcock, an investment banker’s prodigy, put his fists up and, laughing, took a swat at both of them.
    “Gentlemen, knock it off.”
    God grant me patience. Having been an only child, she’d had little experience dealing with children prior to accepting her teaching position at the London branch of the prestigious American International Schools, and her students, sensing it, regularly ran roughshod over her. But she took comfort where she could. Today would be a trip down memory lane, to that carefree summer when she’d been an exchange student in Edinburgh. And she’d be able to put her hard-earned degree in European history to excellent use.
    Seeing Peter had his windbreaker on, she started walking. “This way, gentlemen. We’re off to tour the 140 acres known as Edinburgh’s New Town where at one time the greatest minds on earth could all be found living shoulder to shoulder. Our first stop will be Charlotte Square, named after King George III’s wife and designed by renowned architect Robert Adam.”
    Three hours later, having described every nuance of Georgian architecture and the gruesome details related to Edinburgh Castle’s body-laden moat being drained and turned into the lovely garden in which they now stood, Sarah, hoarse and dead on her feet, asked, “Is anyone hungry?”
    “Yes!” they all shouted.
    Ty Clark III queried no one in particular, “Anyone see a McDonald’s around here?”
    Behind him Bryce whispered, “You think the Spaniel will let us order some stout?”
    Peter Elgin answered for her, muttering, “Hell, no.”
    Sarah sighed. “Watch the profanity, gentlemen.”
    A creative lot, her students had code names for