MURDER AT MIDNIGHT

Abi Anderson Cozy Mysteries

Book 2

By Zanna Mackenzie

MURDER AT MIDNIGHT– © 2020 Zanna Mackenzie

The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All plots, incidents, characters, locations, organisations, names etc. are fictitious, created from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to real persons, incidents, locations, organisations, names is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be stored, shared, copied, transmitted or reproduced in any way without express written permission from the author.

About This Story:

It’s New Year’s Eve and when you work for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency there’s no such thing as getting to take the holidays off. Which is why special agent Abi Anderson is going to a Hogmanay party in a luxurious Scottish castle as a sleuth on a mission to catch criminals - and not, sadly, as a guest out to enjoy herself. Typical. Even worse, it’s a fancy dress party and when you have to find a costume at the very last minute in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands you end up dressed as... well, why not read on and see for yourself?

CHAPTER ONE

The raucous laughter from the party fades into the background as I gently close the door to the study behind me.

Across the room a single table lamp on a huge oak desk struggles to lighten the gloom of the study.

I wish I had my usual agency sleuthing kit with me which would make quick work of assessing this room and help me catch the bad guys (or gals) as quickly as possible. Then I could leap in my car, mission complete, and hightail it out of here.

Sadly though, my ridiculous fancy dress outfit has nowhere to stash such an agency toolkit.

Oh how I hate fancy dress parties!

I also hate New Year’s Eve – or Hogmanay as they call it around these parts – but that’s a whole other story.

Right. Down to work.

There’s no key in the lock of the study belonging to Sir Ralph McDonald, former Clan Chief of the McDonalds. He was murdered just two days ago. Found strangled, at midnight, hanging from a pair of rather sturdy deer antlers strung up in the ballroom here at Collzean Castle in the Highlands of Scotland.

Frankly, in the circumstances, I’m amazed his wife and family are still hosting this party for all members of the Clan MacDonald. Shouldn’t they be grieving not spinning each other round the dance floor in some traditional Scottish dance? Oh well, I guess everyone has their own particular way of dealing with grief. From what I’ve seen since I parked my hire car worryingly close to some flaming torches guarding the castle entrance, for the McDonalds coping with grief seems to relate to getting drunk and partying.

Devoid of sleuthing devices thanks to this stupid fancy dress get-up, I decide to secure the room as best I can with what I can while I carry out my search. A chair sits against a dark wood bookcase that stretches from floor to ceiling. Perfect. I’ll drag that across and wedge it under the doorknob so I can’t be disturbed during my investigation.

I reach for the chair in question and almost do myself a serious injury. This thing weighs an absolute tonne! You have to keep yourself in reasonable condition when it comes to fitness to be a Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency sleuth and I’m no slouch when it comes to running and the like but I’m not Superwoman.

I guess the chair will have to stay where it is then and I’ll have to risk my room search with the chance any Tom, Dick or McDonald could walk right in at any moment.

First stop in my search is the desk which takes up half of one side of the room. There’s clutter all over the top of it. Books – the hefty historic kind. Old documents. Discarded pens. A cup of cold coffee which has now formed a skin. Yuck.

I pull at the first desk drawer I see, fully expecting it to be locked, and when it easily slides open it almost sends me flying backwards. Settling on the floor behind the desk to peruse the contents of the drawer, I notice how threadbare the ancient rug is. From the look of the ‘public’ areas of the castle you’d think this branch of the McDonald clan wasn’t short of a penny or two. The extraordinarily long tables in the ballroom groaning under the weight of copious bottles of alcohol and platters of food would also suggest money is not an issue around here. Yet this old rug could possibly hint otherwise. Perhaps the coffers do need replenishing somewhat or maybe this rug is an old favourite, a family heirloom, that the castle inhabitants simply couldn’t bring themselves to throw away.

The drawer yields nothing to help my investigation – it’s just full of pens, pencils, a sketchpad and unused notebooks.

I’m flicking through the sketchbook and admiring the drawings of plants, flowers, dogs, horses and people when I hear somebody trying the door handle.

Wonderful.

Why can’t I be left in peace to carry out my sleuthing? I hunker down behind the desk, which frankly could provide cover for about ten people, and cross my fingers that the person or persons about to join me in the study are not some couple in search of somewhere private to fool around.

The door opens and then softly closes. No giggling sounds. No noise at all. That’s good – well, in a way it is. Less chance of it being a pair of canoodlers.

From my position close to the floor, I spy a pair of black shoes standing barely inches in front of the desk. Male shoes. Who is this guy and what does he want in the study? I press myself further into the recess beneath the desk next to another one of those hefty chairs that are all over the place.

I just need to stay out of sight, be as quiet as a mouse and hold my breath till this guy makes his exit.

“I know you’re in here,” the man says.

Yikes...

CHAPTER TWO

“Abi? Come on out, wherever you are.”

Abi? He knows my name?

Hang on one second...

Now I recognise his voice.

I scramble out from my hiding place and get to my feet.

“Jake! What are you doing here?”

He breaks out his killer smile. “Hey, Abi!”

Wait for it....

“Nice outfit!” he enthuses, nodding his approval. “I like it. A lot.”

Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, I scoot behind the desk chair to provide myself with some cover.

“No it is not.” I take in his designer suit, clean shaven jaw, perfect dark hair and undisputedly handsome features. “It’s a fancy dress party,” I fume. “Why did you not have to dress up?”

He does a suave and sophisticated slow spin on the spot. “I am in fancy dress. I came here as James Bond,” he winks.

What?! Seriously?! Why does he get away with that while I have to wear... well, this! I look at my outfit. Oh boy, I so want to get out of here and slip into jeans and a sweater.

“Abi! You look sensational.”

“I look like an idiot,” I grumble back at him. “This is totally impractical for... well... pretty much anything and everything.”

“But totally hot.”

I jab an irritated finger in his direction. “Special Agent Jake Smith I swear I will report you to agency HQ for sexual harassment if you carry on like this!”

“Sorry. So sorry, Abi,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “Totally inappropriate behaviour. It’s that outfit of yours... I got a bit distracted.”

“Well, don’t!” I sniff. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought the agency said I was working alone on this one.”

“You know what they’re like.” He shrugs. “Change of plan. I’d just finished an investigation in Edinburgh and was at a loose end so they sent me here in case you wanted any help.”

Jake Smith at a loose end during party season? I highly doubt that. Off the top of my head I could name at least five women from the agency who would drop anything and swiftly change their plans at the very last moment if they received a party invite from this man.

If my personal circumstances were different then I would probably count myself in among them as well. But my circumstances are... complicated.

Jake casts a quick glance about the room and then lifts the chair I tried to move earlier across to the door to jam it closed.

Annoying but to be expected. Jake, like me, has a rigorous fitness routine to keep in shape for agency work. Unlike me, he lifts weights. A lot. Which is why he can move furniture around without breaking into a sweat in his fancy suit.

“Now,” he says, checking nobody can open the door. “Can I assist you in any way with this case or shall I hop back in my car and head home?”

We both know that there’s no way on this planet that is an option. Jake has been assigned to work this case with me. It’s not optional. What the agency says, goes. Still, it’s kind of nice of him to ask me. Even if it is just a token gesture.

I slide onto the chair behind the desk in a further attempt to keep my fancy dress attire as hidden as possible. Stretching my hands out before me on the only patch of uncluttered desk surface I start to bring Jake up to speed on proceedings so far.

“Sir Ralph MacDonald was murdered. Strangled. He was found hung from a pair of deer antlers.”

Jake walks back and forth as I talk, taking in the information.

“The fact he was found where he was suggests a couple of things,” I continue. “It would take more than one person to lift him up there. It also indicates the murderers were people who had access to the castle and knew there was temporary scaffolding in the main reception rooms of the castle during the time period.”

“Scaffolding?” Jake frowns. “Indoors?”

I nod. “Yes, it’s that stuff that decorators use to paint high ceilings. They have their own scaffolding here which they use for a different kind of decorating...”

“Ah, I see, you mean putting up the Hogmanay trimmings ready for the party?”

“So anyway, it was Sir Ralph’s first wife who called the CCIA and asked for them to send some agents up here. She claims the local constabulary are not up to the task of catching the murderer.”

My co-worker stops pacing and sits on the edge of the tartan sofa with its fancy golden legs. “I can well believe it. Can’t imagine they get a lot of murders up here in the Highlands in modern times. Not like the old days with all the clan wars.”

“True,” I concede.

“Let me just get something straight,” Jake checks. “If he’s a clan chief, not a famous celebrity, why are we here? Last I heard we work for an agency that only works for celebrities.”

“Emily, his first wife, the one who called us, was a well-known folk singer. Quite the star in her day apparently. She still does some concerts here and there and is something of a celeb in Scotland even after all these years of semi-retirement.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. So back to the case, the scaffolding and the antlers have all been checked for fingerprints I take it?”

“Did it myself when I got here. The scaffolding hadn’t been removed for the party at that point. The local guys had already dusted for prints too so I’m told but...”

“You thought it was worth double checking in case they missed any bits?”

“Can’t be too thorough with these things. Anyway, the fingerprint check didn’t help any. Too many prints.”

Jake gets to his feet again and starts checking around the room. “So, do we have a shortlist of suspects yet? You mentioned his first wife was the one who called the agency. How many wives did this guy have?”

“Three.” I shuffle papers around on the desk as I reply. Surely there has to be some clue amongst all this stuff. “The first and the second wife are great friends.”

“Let me guess,” Jake says as he slides books off shelves, flicking through them. “The first and the third wives hate each other and wife number one suspects wife number three of killing off Sir Ralph for his money. That’s why she called the agency in to investigate. She wants to make sure the third wife gets what she deserves. A long spell in jail.”

“That’s what I thought too at the start. It certainly warrants some digging around. I’ve researched all those who had access to the castle on the day Sir Ralph was murdered and it is a rather long list. With all the party preparations going on the place has been frequented by family, friends, staff, catering personnel, party planners, you name it, they've all been through the castle in the last few days. It’s party central.”

“Who found him?” Jake asks, continuing his searching of the study.

“The castle’s manager. A guy called Fergus MacPherson.”

Jake spins round and raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Great name!”

“He’s new here apparently.”

 “And what do we know about the wives?” he asks, moving now along the wall panels.

I continue sifting through the various folders and bits of paperwork on the desk as I reply. “As I said, the first wife is called Emily. She’s a local and apparently they had a semi-arranged marriage to appease clan politics. It wasn’t love at first sight but they liked each other and got on well until...”

“Sir Ralph decided to go for a younger wife?” Jake guesses.

“Yep. He can’t resist the ladies, so I’m told.”

“Where is wife number one living these days?” he checks.

“She lives in the gatehouse at the entrance to the country estate. It was part of the divorce deal that she got that property and some of the thousands of acres of land owned by the clan. The daughter from their marriage is called Henrietta. She divides her time between London and staying up here with her mother. No great love lost between father and daughter by the sound of things.”

I get up from the desk, the paperwork unfortunately revealing nothing of significance in our investigation.

“The second wife is here too, she’s at the party as the guest of her daughter. Obviously the third wife is the current wife and lives here at the castle anyway. There’s a daughter from that marriage too. She’s at university but is home for the holidays.”

Jake perches on the edge of the desk. “So, we have three wives and three daughters, all here at the castle at the moment. All potential suspects.”

“Yep.” I sigh. “Well, I can’t see anything of use regarding the case in Sir Ralph’s study so I guess we’d best go and join the party and do some questioning.”

“After you,” Jake replies, getting to his feet and gesturing towards the door.

I’m not even going to attempt to move that heavy chair out of the way so I step back and pretend to play a feminist card. “No, Jake, after you.”

He grins and I suspect he knows my real reasons for letting him exit the study first – moving that monstrous chair from blocking the door and not having him walk behind me while I’m wearing this stupid fancy dress outfit.

“That’s wife number one,” I say to Jake ten minutes later as we help ourselves to non-alcoholic drinks from the table near the ballroom door. This castle is packed with history at every turn, from portraits of family members stretching back centuries to impressive rooms like this one with its huge stone fireplace, fancy chandeliers and ornate windows. I wonder how many people have danced across these floors over the years.

Emily - i.e. wife number one - is dressed in an elegant sapphire blue gown cascading from her shoulders and pooling on the floor at her silver shoes. Her grey hair is arranged in a fancy style with diamond clips and some rather expensive looking jewels sparkle at her throat. Across one shoulder she has a shawl of her family tartan draped and secured with a diamond brooch. She looks every inch the Scottish princess. I wonder if that’s her fancy dress outfit for the evening or if this is just regular party attire for her.

The cheerful jig of a dance accompanied by musicians with bagpipes is just finishing and she’s being escorted from the dance floor to her seat by her dance partner.

“I wonder if they still have dance cards,” I ponder.

Jake frowns. “What cards?”

“You know, in more formal times a lady had a dance card and men who wanted to reserve a dance filled their names in on her card.”

“Oh, right.”

Clearly Jake is not a fan of such traditions because before he starts to stride away he says, “I’m going to ask her to dance.”

I grab at his arm. “You can’t do that!” I hiss. “She probably has a full card and you can’t just pinch somebody else’s dance!”

He grins. “Watch me.”

I sigh. Great. He’s going to disrupt the order of things and draw attention to us. We’re supposed to be undercover. Nobody knows who we are except for Emily, wife number one. She introduced me when I arrived to the other castle residents. She said I was a daughter of one of her London friends.

“You should ask this Fergus guy to dance,” Jake suggests. “He’s the castle manager, right? He found Sir Ralph. Got to be worth a chat. You know who he is? What he looks like?”

“Of course I do,” I half-snap.

“Great, then go ask him.”

“That’s not how it works at these kinds of occasions. A lady isn’t supposed to ask a man to dance.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Trust me, this guy is not going to refuse you a dance, especially in that costume,” he grins.

As he smoothly navigates those party people still on the dance floor and now partaking in a traditional waltz, I debate if I should indeed track Fergus down and have a little chat with him.

“Excuse me,” a male voice says politely.

I spin round to find a rather handsome blond guy dressed in a kilt standing right next to me.

CHAPTER THREE

“May I have this dance?” he asks with a gentlemanly bow. “I’m Fergus, the castle manager here at Collzean.”

This is totally unprofessional I know but I allow myself a moment to silently admit this guy is totally swoon-worthy. His soft Scottish accent is deliciously inviting. His hair flops over his forehead and his eyes are the darkest chocolate brown.

I nod. “Thank you, I’d love to dance. I’m relieved you asked me when it’s a waltz,” I continue as he takes my hand. “I would have had no idea how to do one of those traditional Scottish dances.”

“They do take some learning,” he concedes. “Many of the people at this gathering would have learnt Scottish dancing when they were in school and will have had years of adhering to the old adage about practise makes perfect.”

We slot neatly onto the dance floor amongst the other couples mid-waltz and Fergus gently slides a hand to my waist. He’s dressed in a white ruffled shirt teamed with a black and red kilt. As he’s Scottish and actually living in the Highlands of Scotland I think his choice of fancy dress outfit is rather on the unimaginative side but he carries it off with such flair and confidence that he easily gets away with it.

“Emily tells me you’re the daughter of one her London friends,” Fergus says as he leads me round the dance floor. “Can I ask what tempted you all of the way up here to the wilds of Scotland?”

I have my back story all planned and ready to go. Emily was thoroughly briefed on it too in case anyone in and around the castle asked her who I was.

“Lost my job,” I sigh for dramatic effect before adding, “and my home.”

Fergus pulls a dismayed face. “Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that. What line of work were you in?”

“I’m a curator. I worked for a big art gallery and absolutely loved it. Then the owner’s daughter returned from New York where she had been working at MOMA and of course I was ousted and she got my job. Nepotism, huh?”

“MOMA? Am I right in thinking that stands for the Museum Of Modern Art?”

I nod. “I’m impressed.”

“I love art and whenever I visit a city I always make sure I visit all of the galleries I can manage.”

“Did you study art at college or university then?” I ask as his hand gently squeezes my waist just a little and for the briefest of moments.

“No. I studied land management in Glasgow at university. I’m an outdoors kind of guy more attuned to how to take care of acres of forests and moors and lochs than how to create art. I just enjoy looking at art, at beautiful things in general, I guess.”

His eyes flicker over my face. “I don’t want to overstep the mark but I would love to say I think you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” I’m sure it’s some chat up line he hauls out at all the parties but a little part of me is still flattered. At least he’s being gentlemanly with his compliments and not making some cheeky comments about my fancy dress outfit like Jake did.

Speaking of whom... where has my special agent co-worker vanished to? I can’t spy him anywhere on the dance floor. Where on earth is he? Then I see him at the bar chatting away with Henrietta, daughter number one, along with her mother Emily. Both women, a generation apart, appear to be equally charmed by my colleague.

We swirl around the dance floor some more as the musicians continue to play this waltz as though they’re mesmerised by the music they’re making.

Hmm. A man who lives in the Highlands of Scotland and studied land management and who professes to be an outdoorsy kind of guy and is also a huge art fan. I wonder if that’s at all significant to this case. Are we investigating just a murder or a murder related to something else? Such as an art theft perhaps? This castle is stacked to the rafters with art that looks to me to be originals and probably worth a pretty penny. Did Fergus have his eye on snaffling some art to sell and Sir Ralph McDonald found out about it? If Fergus is involved then he must have an accomplice in order to have dragged Sir Ralph up the scaffolding to hang him on the deer antlers. Why go to the trouble of doing that I wonder.

The musicians finally decide to end the waltz music and take a bow before announcing they will be taking a short refreshment break and then returning for more music and merriment within the half hour.

Fergus leads me off the dance floor and towards the bar. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks.

I nod. “Thanks. An orange juice please.”

“One moment.” He flashes a gorgeous smile before stepping away to catch the attention of one of the servers behind the free bar.

I peruse my surroundings, ostensibly taking in the ornate ceiling and roaring fire in its grand stone surround as I wander about a little. What I’m actually doing is listening in on conversations all around me. There’s excited talk of a planned ski trip between some twenty somethings. There’s inebriated flirting between others. There are people proclaiming how wonderful a party it is and how delicious the food is and how glorious the wine and brandy and Scotch all are.

My eyes are drawn to the rows of deer antlers decorating the top of the walls of the ballroom and immense sadness sweeps over me. The leader of the McDonald clan died right here at the castle and yet people are carrying on as normal with their laughing, dancing and drinking. There is not one ounce of grief evident anywhere in this ballroom. Poor Sir Ralph.

The guests at the party must know what happened surely, otherwise how would Sir Ralph’s absence have been explained? What is also of concern is that there could well be a murderer just walking around scot free amongst these revellers – does nobody care?

Well, I certainly do.

“Here we go.”

I spin round as Fergus appears back at my side. He hands me my orange juice.

After taking a sip, I thank him and smile. “This is some party, isn’t it?”

“As I’m pretty new here this is my first clan gathering but I’d been warned they’re quite the bash. I’ve worked at other castles in Scotland and they take clan gatherings very seriously indeed in terms of impressing the guests and providing copious amounts of food and drink.”

“It must cost an absolute fortune to host these things.”

He nods, sips his Scotch and then says, “No expense spared no matter how much the host family may be struggling financially.”

“Are the McDonalds struggling then?” I ask wide-eyed.

“Most families trying to fund the upkeep of these ancient Scottish castles are struggling for money. These places eat money left, right and centre.” He leans closer and lowers his voice. “Any idea how much it costs just to keep this castle in essential maintenance and heating? We’re not talking repairing roofs or installing new things here, just the absolute basic ongoing costs.”

I shake my head. “No idea at all.”

“Thirty two thousand pounds each and every year as a minimum,” he says, followed by raised eyebrows and then a shake of the head. “Balancing the books is nigh on impossible.”

“So how do they manage to keep a roof over their heads?” I press.

“Selling off the valuables seems to be one of the main ways. Lots of old art and ornaments and antiques in places like this. Though selling things that are obvious and will be missed by those who visit the house is a big no-no. It doesn’t do to let people see the evidence that you’re struggling financially.”

“It must be heart-breaking for the family to have to sell off treasured heirlooms just to fund repairs on leaky roofs and the like.”

“Yes, truly heart-breaking.”

“Can I ask you something, Fergus?”

He turns those melting chocolate eyes on me. “Of course.”

“Why is it that all of these people are here and partying away when the chief of the clan, Sir Ralph McDonald, died so recently. It seems wrong to me.”

“Ah, I can see how it would.” He takes a generous swig of his drink.

“So, why wasn’t the party postponed?” I press.

“Too late,” he replies with a shrug. “Lots of people attend the clan gatherings from all over the world. There are McDonald folk here who have traced their ancestry right back to this castle but they now live in Canada, America and even Australia. They book flights and accommodation well in advance and many had already arrived when the sad news of Sir Ralph’s demise was broken.”

“So they decided to still party?”

“Yes but after tonight the grieving will formally begin I can assure you. Sir Ralph is not being disrespected here, they simply see it as celebrating his life.”

Well, that’s one way to look at things, I suppose.

“I heard Sir Ralph has three daughters but no sons so who will become the next clan chief?” I ask. “Is being a clan chief one of those things that only passes to sons or is it not even an inherited title?”

Fergus looks thoughtful for a moment. “Usually it is one of those things that passes to a son yes, but in this situation I confess I have yet to be told what will happen. Henrietta, over there,” he stops to point to the tall and elegant woman dressed as Mary Poppins who is still chatting away to Jake, “is the eldest daughter so she may gain the title. I’m really not sure. She’s certainly not a woman to be crossed but then none of the McDonald women are! Soon there will be discussions and eventually the ladies of the house will update me on how things will proceed from here.”

I frown. “The ladies of the house?”

“Sir Ralph had three wives,” he waves a hand, “sorry, that came out wrong. I don’t mean he was a bigamist. What I meant to say is that he has been married three times. His current wife and his two ex-wives are all here tonight and will call a meeting soon with the estate’s staff to decide on the way forward.”

“Why should his previous wives have a say?” I ask before taking another sip of my perfectly chilled orange juice.

“Because they are the mothers of potential castle and estate heirs,” he explains.

“Ah, I see.”

Jake is still charming Emily and Henrietta and I feel as though I may have asked all I want to ask of Fergus, for now anyway, so ponder what to do next. I see the musicians returning to the temporary stage at the head of the ballroom so opt to make my excuses before Fergus invites me to join him on the dance floor again.

“Would you excuse me? I need to find the Ladies’ Room.”

“Perhaps we might manage another dance later on?” he ventures and I smile and nod.

He beams back at me. “The Ladies’ Room is out of the far door, up the stairs and the fifth door on the left.”

The fifth door! Wow, there are some long corridors around here!

“Thanks.”

As I exit the room, pausing to place my empty juice glass on a table, I take the chance to eavesdrop on conversations once more.  There’s more talk of holiday plans and food and drink in general, with who-fancies-who being the main topic amongst the younger generation of partygoers. Nothing remotely useful in terms of helping with the investigation though. Unfortunately.

As I climb the stairs I notice the art lining the walls. Are these genuine and worth a fortune? Or have they already been sold off to the highest bidder and the pictures which now adorn these walls are all fakes?

CHAPTER FOUR

I’m wandering along the lengthy corridor in search of the Ladies’ Room and decide that castle living is definitely not for me. The wind is howling through the myriad chimneys and the house creaks and groans with every step I take. Castles are seriously creepy. Though old sconce wall lights and the occasional table lamp illuminate the corridor, the lights are dim, leading to dark patches here and there giving the impression something is lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out at me as I walk past. I shake my head to ward off such thoughts. I can’t be freaked out by an old castle.

An old castle where somebody was recently murdered. My mind grabs hold of that reality and then races off with it, imagining how many other people may have met their end inside these ancient stone walls. I shudder. A lot of people would probably be the answer to that particular question. Some of them by natural causes and some in far more suspicious circumstances – like with Sir Ralph McDonald.

I hear voices behind me and then giggling so decide to slip inside the nearest room out of sight and see who else is up here walking around the hallway. The voices are growing nearer now - a male and a female. Young by the sound of things. They both seem on the inebriated side.

“Which room is yours?” a male voice slurs.

“I can’t remember,” a female voice replies and then has another fit of giggles.

I so hope the room they’re searching for is not the one I’m hiding out in.

“Maybe this one?” she says and unfortunately the voice is getting nearer.

There are loads of rooms in this corridor and they’re seriously going to want this one?

Thankfully the voices recede a little and then the female triumphantly shouts, “No, I think it might be this one!”

Phew. Risking opening the door a tad, I peek out into the gloom. The couple are now in a heated kiss outside a bedroom door about ten feet along the corridor.

I recognise the female. It’s Delia Dance. Daughter number two. I recall she’s an actress and spends most of her time in London. She was reputed to be Sir Ralph’s favourite daughter. I don’t know who the guy is though.

As they fumble with the door handle and then stumble inside the room I once again find myself feeling sorry for Sir Ralph. There were six women in his life – three wives and three daughters. Not one of them is overcome with grief at his passing. You’d think they would be even more distraught at the suspicious circumstances surrounding his death. I mean, the man was murdered right here at home in the castle. Could they somehow all have colluded on the murder? Did they want him gone from Collzean Castle? If so, why?

With the corridor now clear, I hastily find the bathroom - a large room complete with chaise longue, vanity units and vases of pink roses. Five minutes later - after surveying myself in the full length Ladies’ Room mirror and shuddering at my fancy dress outfit – I make my way back to the noise and bustle of the party.

“Hi, I wondered where you’d vanished to,” Jake says, sidling up to me as I survey the food table and debate a sandwich.

Turning away from the food, I nod towards the dance floor where people are navigating a complicated Scottish dance that involves lots of changes in direction and jigging about.

“How did things go with your dance with Emily and then your chat with her daughter Henrietta?” I quiz.

“Interesting,” he replies. “Apparently Henrietta is planning to move back to the castle and run the place. Her husband vanished last year on a hunting trip in the wilds of Canada, they suspected he was eaten by a bear. They have two children – both girls – and Henrietta is moving them out of private school and bringing them up here next month, so she says.”

I frown. “So, as the eldest daughter she inherits the castle and estate?”

“She certainly seems to be under that impression.”

“I’m going to chase up agency HQ and see if they can check the databases they use and locate an officially recorded and legally binding document to that effect. With a country estate like this there must be something on record. Oh, by the way, I just saw Delia and some guy heading into a bedroom upstairs,” I tell him as he eats a piece of quiche.

He finishes eating, wipes his mouth on a napkin and nods. “She’s the second daughter, right?”

Tucking my phone away, I nod. “You know what really bugs me? The fact none of his family seem remotely bothered Sir Ralph was murdered!”

Jake eyes me for a few seconds before replying. “And that makes you wonder if they were somehow involved with his demise?” he correctly deduces.

“Or maybe he’s not really dead!”

Setting his plate of mostly uneaten food on a nearby table, Jake then reaches for a hand and guides me out of the ballroom.

We find a library lined with old books, floor to ceiling, and close the door behind us.

“What on earth do you mean he might not be dead?” Jake says.

Though the sounds of the party are still evident, we can at least hold a conversation in here without having to shout over the music.

“The guy was found hung from deer antlers in the castle! You said so. Agency records confirmed it.”

“But we haven’t actually seen the body, have we?” I reply as I pace back and forth on the ornate gold and red rug. “Maybe everyone around here, from the local police to the family to Fergus, the castle manager, are all in on it! It could be an insurance scam!”

To give him credit, Jake looks as though he’s actually taking my latest view on the investigation seriously. Well, kind of.

“They need the money, so Sir Ralph gets murdered and the insurance pays out,” he ponders. “Everyone is in on it?”

Another thought pops into my head. “But wouldn’t they all be playing the grieving family to the hilt if that was the case? They’d be looking to convince the local police and the insurance investigators how upset they are. Plus, Emily, wife number one, would not have called the agency in if that was the case.”

“Maybe Emily didn’t know?” Jake suggests.

“Maybe.” I continue my pacing across the room. In other circumstances I’d have loved to spend some time in here, exploring the tomes lining the solid wood bookcases. “And yet her daughter Henrietta is already planning on moving up here and claiming the castle as her own. It doesn’t add up. There’s no reason for the others to formulate a plan with Sir Ralph to fake his death if his eldest daughter is then going to swoop in and lay claim to everything. Is there?”

Jake flops into a leather chair, looking thoughtful. “There’s definitely something we’re missing here.”

“I think so too.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’m going to ask her to dance,” Jake says decisively.

“Yes,” I agree. “Good idea. Go and use your charms on her and see if you can find out anything useful.”

Jake pulls a sad face. “Pity my considerable charms don’t work on you.”

“Duty calls, special agent,” I faux chastise him as I gesture towards the dance floor. “Go and see if you can get Sophie, daughter number three, to spill out her life story to you.”

Sophie, dressed as a ballet dancer, is currently partaking in a rather energetic bout of Scottish dancing with castle manager Fergus. It may be my imagination getting carried away but I think I notice some chemistry between the two of them. Sophie is home from university for the McDonald Clan Gathering party and has only recently turned nineteen according to the information provided by the agency. Fergus is thirty five. A very young looking and rather handsome thirty five admittedly but that’s still quite the age difference if there actually is anything going on between them.

The dance comes to an end and Sophie and Fergus – like all the other couples on the dance floor – bow rather formally to each other. If they weren’t both sporting fancy dress costumes it could pass for a scene from a Jane Austin novel.

I tap away on my phone as Jake turns on his thousand kilowatt smile and persuades Sophie to share the next dance with him. She doesn’t take much persuading by the look of things. As the music starts up again I realise it’s another traditional Scottish dance. This will test Jake. The dances seem fiendishly complex with legs, arms, hands and feet all over the place.

But Jake seems to know exactly where to turn, where to put his feet, and when to twirl Sophie. I gasp. How on earth does he know how to do Scottish country dancing? This man always amazes me.

“Hi, there.”

I turn round, startled from my thoughts, to see Fergus standing next to me. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

He nods. “Want some company? We could take another spin around the dance floor?”

“Maybe later. I can feel a bit of a headache coming on,” I half-fib. Actually, my head is starting to pound a little. The music and chatter is so loud and it’s stiflingly hot in here with the huge fire roaring away and all these people dancing.

“Fresh air, that’s what you need,” he says, gesturing towards the ballroom doors. “I know the perfect spot on the terrace where we can watch the moon rise over the mountains of the country estate.”

I’m intrigued. “That does sound rather nice,” I admit.

The cool night air is beautifully refreshing as we stroll across the terrace. The moon is just peeping over the top of the highest mountain, the dark silhouette of which is still visible.

I take in my surroundings. The flaming torches marking the castle entrance and parking area are blazing out into the night, illuminating the stone castle behind. It’s truly spectacular.

“It must be amazing to live in a place like this.”

Fergus nods. “Truly enchanting.” Tentatively taking my hand he adds, “Just like you.”

I blush. I’m not used to getting such sweet compliments from a dashing Scotsman in a kilt. Truth be told, I’m not used to getting compliments from anyone. Well, I mentally correct myself, there is Jake but that’s complicated.

Smiling my thanks, I gently ease my hand from his.

“I have a confession to make,” Fergus says, suddenly looking serious.

My special agent senses spring to alert, pushing aside the female who was allowing herself to swoon just a tad.

CHAPTER SIX

“I don’t actually live at the castle,” Fergus says.

That’s it? That was his confession?

“I wouldn’t want to mislead you in any way,” he rushes on. “I’m not wealthy or a titled laird or anything. I’m just the castle manager. I live in a tiny and slightly rustic cottage in the village. The house comes with the job.”

“Ah,” I say, then smile.

“I feel honesty is so important, don’t you?”

“Indeed.” I spot my opportunity to dive in with a few questions. “Speaking of honesty, I saw you and Sophie dancing together earlier. I thought I sensed... something. Are the two of you involved?”

Fergus steps back, looking genuinely horrified. “Goodness me, no! Sophie is a child. She’s barely nineteen.”

Oops. Looks like I called that one wrong. But then again...

“Perhaps Sophie might have a little crush on you then?” I venture.

Fergus still looks dismayed. “I’ve never done anything to encourage her, I swear.”

“You asked her to dance.”

“I was being polite.”

“Ah,” I say again.

Leaning on the stone balustrade that edges the terrace as the moon slowly climbs higher, I add, “So, tell me a little about yourself, Fergus.”

He stands next to me, close enough that there is barely room for a breath of night air between us but not so close for our arms to be actually touching.

“Let me see, I mentioned earlier that I went to university in Glasgow and studied land management. I think I mentioned I’ve worked at country estates all over Scotland as well as further afield too.”

“Where was your last job before you arrived at Collzean?”

“In Canada, at a hunting lodge estate.”

Bells clang loudly in the back of my mind. Where have I heard Canada mentioned recently? That’s it! I remember now. Henrietta’s husband vanished at a hunting lodge in Canada, presumed to have been eaten by a bear. I’m sure there are lots of hunting lodges in Canada so making the leap that Fergus might know Henrietta’s former husband is an extremely long one. Now I wish I’d noted her married surname so I could at least ask Fergus if he might have come across him out there.

I can hardly get my phone out and check my case notes to look for a surname right in front of Fergus though.

Instead I try a different approach.

“So what brought you here? How did you come across Collzean?”

“A guest at the hunting lodge where I used to work told me all about the castle and the setting and the acres of land and mountain and loch and I got this huge pang of homesickness. I knew it was time to return to Scotland. I needed to be near my family. It was time to come home.”

“Can I ask you something a little...” I pause, choosing my words carefully.

Fergus leans closer. “Yes?”

“Well, something has been puzzling me since I arrived at Collzean.”

“Yes?” he prompts again.

“Could Sir Ralph’s murderer still be in our midst do you think?” I attempt a spot of acting and fix him with scared eyes. “Could they even be right here at the party?”

Fergus slips a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “Of course I have no idea if the murderer is here but I sincerely hope they’re not. It would be good if I could say that the local police have everything in hand but I suspect they’re not up to tracking down murderers. Things like that just don’t happen around here.”

I shiver and Fergus pulls me a little closer.

“Everything will sort itself out and I’m sure one way or another whoever is responsible will get their comeuppance.”

“I hope so.”

 “Don’t you worry about it,” Fergus attempts to placate me. “You’ll be safe. I promise you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I make my excuse that I’m too worried about rampaging murderers to stay outside and watch the rest of the moon rise, so we head back inside the castle.

Jake meets us outside the ballroom and makes his apologies to Fergus for interrupting but says he needs to speak with me urgently.

We retrace our steps to the library and I close the door behind us. “What’s wrong? What do you need to talk with me about?”

“I just had a very interesting chat while dancing with Sophie,” Jake says, leaning against the back of a leather sofa. “Seems she’s planning to ditch university and come home to Collzean to run the castle and estate.”

“What?” I gasp. “But she’s the youngest child and Henrietta, the eldest daughter, is already planning her return to the family home and seems convinced she’s set to inherit everything.”

“Perhaps Sir Ralph changed his Will with each successive marriage?” Jake suggests. “Effectively, pushing aside daughters one and two in favour of the daughter with his current wife? That would make sense in a way.”

“It sounds like if he did change his Will, then he never told his ex-wives or older daughters as much. Certainly Henrietta is thinking she’s going to inherit, now Sophie thinks she is.”

“That just leaves Delia, the middle daughter, not expecting to become the new clan McDonald chief.”

I pull an unconvinced face. “As far as we know. Last I saw of Delia she was too drunk and busy heading for the bedrooms with her beau to be concerning herself with whether or not she was about to inherit Collzean.”

“Let’s go and see if she’s resurfaced in the ballroom, shall we?” Jake suggests.

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply with a nod.

But we don’t need to try and track her down on the dance floor.

As soon as I open the door from the library to the hallway, I recognise her voice.

Lifting a finger to my lips to quieten Jake, I gesture towards the stairs and silently mouth ‘Delia’. He nods in understanding. We wait on our side of the door and listen as she chatters away - still sounding rather merry – to her male companion.

“Soon, all of this will be mine,” she says. “Are you impressed?”

A male voice replies, “You know it, babe. It’s so hot dating a duchess.”

Delia giggles. “Silly boy, I’m not going to become a duchess just because I inherit the castle and country estate. I’ll be the Laird. I think I might get everyone to call me Her Ladyship though. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, your ladyship,” he replies.

Delia finds that hilarious.

I roll my eyes at Jake.

“Hey, babe,” the guy says to her. “You’re like the middle daughter, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Doesn’t the eldest child normally get everything?” he ponders.

“Usually yes,” Delia says. “But not in this case. I was always Daddy’s favourite daughter and Mummy was always his favourite wife. He told us we’d still inherit this place even though he’d remarried.”

“Then your ma will inherit right? Not you?” he reasons.

It sounds as though he’s definitely the more sober of the two of them.

“No, no, no,” Delia shouts at him. “Mummy remarried and lives in France now in her own chateau. She said I could have this place.” There’s a pause before she continues, “Her chateau is in the South of France with all that heavenly warmth and sunshine. She said I could have this draughty and cold old place. So it’s all mine.”

There’s more giggling and when it finally goes quiet and I risk a quick look into the hallway to see if the coast is clear, they’re in kissing mode again, this time on the bottom of the stairs. Seeing a fairy and a wizard kissing is rather disconcerting to say the least. Honestly, fancy dress parties are so bizarre.

This must be one of the oddest cases I have ever worked for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I’ve had enough of parties and Highland dancing and drunken revellers,” I grumble to Jake much later. It’s past midnight, they have all sung Auld Lang Syne, fireworks have punctuated the ink black sky - and the party is still going strong.

“They’re certainly a lively bunch,” he admits.

“I feel like I’m going round in circles with the investigation.”

We’ve retreated to our usual out of the way spot for a catch up – the library.

“Agency HQ have said they can’t find access to any formal agreement relating to the future of the castle and estate in the McDonald family,” I continue. “I’m thinking I should have a chat with Emily in the morning and find out who the family solicitors are. A word with them might help to pin down the details of who does stand to gain from Sir Ralph’s Will when it comes to Collzean.”

Jake sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re shutting me out, Abi. I thought the agency wanted us to work this case together but here you are talking about how you will chat with Emily and you will go and see the family’s solicitor.”

“Don’t take it personally,” I mutter, picking up a cushion from the sofa and resting it on my lap like some kind of battle shield and also to hide some of this ridiculous fancy dress outfit.

“Oh, I don’t,” Jake huffs. “I know what you’re like for the majority of the time. Barriers up. Not letting anyone get too close. I know you weren’t always this way and that you changed, understandably, after what happened with Adam. But in this line of work we all know and accept the risks. Not managing to complete an assignment due to injury or far worse happens. It’s horrible but it happens.”

I jump to my feet and throw the cushion back on the sofa, heading for the door. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t have to stay and listen to Jake going on about things I try so desperately to forget each and every day.

Jake reaches for my arm and gently turns me to face him.

“I’m sorry, Abi. I didn’t say those things to hurt you. I’m just stating the facts. Adam was in the Royal Marines. He knew the risks. I understand you’re still grieving but do you think he would want you to be so unhappy for so long? So closed off? I met him a good few times over the years and I know he would hate to see you suffering like this. He’d want you to move on. To allow love back into your heart and your life.”

“It’s late and I’m calling it quits for the night,” I say with a reproachful look at Jake. “I’ll see you in the morning for our chat with Emily.”

I’m so relieved to grab my long winter coat from the cloakroom and wrap it around me, hiding away from view this fancy dress outfit at last. I’ve been longing to do this all evening.

The skin-tight black rubber from ankles to neck, teamed with knee high black leather boots are now mercifully hidden away. Just the black whiskers painted on my face to complete the cat woman outfit are still on display. I can cope with that!

I’m staying in a bed and breakfast in the village and thankfully have my own key to gain access. I doubt the owners - a delightful Danish couple – would appreciate being woken up at two in the morning to let me in! As I creep up the grand wooden staircase with its tartan carpet, trying to make zero noise, I chastise myself for getting grumpy with Jake. He means well. At least I think he does. It’s just that I struggle with any talk of Adam. It might have all happened almost two years ago but the pain is still fresh in my mind and in my heart every single day.

I ring Emily as soon as I have devoured a delicious breakfast of juice, croissants, scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes, toast and marmalade.

She agrees to meet me at her gatehouse lodge in an hour. With time to kill, I take a wander around the village and marvel at the range of snow-topped mountains that surround Netherstone on three sides. The scenery is simply stunning.

Right on time I pull up outside the gothic stone gatehouse.

“Come inside, dear,” Emily says as she greets me at the door as fresh as a daisy. Was she not drinking alcohol at the ball last night? Maybe she stuck to soft drinks. She certainly doesn’t look hung over. “Jake’s already here.”

What? I glance around but his car is not to be seen. It’s then that I realise I don’t even know where he’s staying. He’s not booked into the same bed and breakfast as me but there are a couple of others plus a hotel around these parts.

“Morning, Abi,” Jake beams from the sofa, a mug of coffee in his hands.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Emily asks. “Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

I nod and smile. “Tea would be lovely, thank you. No milk. One sugar.”

As she bustles off to the kitchen, I sit next to Jake. “We didn’t arrange a time to meet for a chat with Emily did we?”

He grins. “No. I guessed you’d be here not long after breakfast so I decided to invite myself round for a chat.”

“Here we go, dear,” Emily says, already back with my cup of tea.

“Now, I’m hoping that you found out something useful at the ball last night. Do you have an idea who is behind what happened to Ralph?” She clasps her hands together. “Oh please tell me you do.”

I notice her choice of words. She didn’t ask who murdered him, she asked who was behind the murder.

Shaking my head, I jump in to reply before Jake. Childish I know but this was my investigation to start with.  “Sadly no but we did want to ask if you could clarify something for us.”

“Of course, dear.”

“Do you know who stands to inherit the castle and the estate?” I press on.

“Ah.” She glances out of the window as a robin perches on a nearby tree. “There may be some confusion on that point.”

Jake places his mug on the table and sits forward. “Why do you say that?”

“Ralph was a love but he was also as fickle as the Scottish weather. That’s why he was married several times. The man could never make up his mind. I think the best thing is for you to speak to the family solicitor. His name is Trevor Hargreaves and his office is right on the main street in the village, you can’t miss it.”

After some small talk and offers of reassurance regarding catching the murderer, we leave the gatehouse and step out into some chilly winter sunshine.

“Where are you staying?” I ask Jake. “There’s no car.”

“I walked down here this morning.”

I frown. The nearest accommodation is far more than a short stroll away as far as I’m aware. “From where?”

“The castle.”

What? How come Jake managed to get to stay at the castle?

“How did that happen? The agency booked me into a bed and breakfast.”

Jake shrugs. “Sorry, Abi, they told me I would be able to stay at Collzean and they sorted a room for me no problem.”

I wonder what agency HQ are playing at.

“Can I get a lift into the village with you?” he asks, turning on his charming smile. “Let’s go and see if we can talk to this solicitor chap.”

Just like Emily said, the solicitor’s office is easy to locate. In reception we’re greeted by a woman who doesn’t look pleased to see us.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, flipping the pages of the hefty book on the desk.

Hmm. No tapping away on a computer to check schedules here then. There’s not a computer to be seen in fact.

“No, sorry,” I begin. “We were hoping Mr Hargreaves might have a moment to see us. We’re with the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency and have some questions for him regarding a local case.”

“He’s a very busy man,” she huffs in response.

“This is an official enquiry,” I reply firmly. “I’m sure he can find time to help law enforcement officers with an investigation.”

“Deirdre, the bakery had just two iced currant buns left for our elevenses,” a man says, stepping onto the office. He sees us and adds, “I’m so sorry, I thought we didn’t have any appointments this morning.”

Deirdre looks shamefaced as she takes the paper bag of cakes and tucks them out of sight behind the reception desk.

Jake offers a hand to shake. “Mr Hargreaves? You’re quite right. We don’t have an appointment but would appreciate it if you could spare us a little bit of your time. I’m Jake and this is Abi and we’re from the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency. We’re working on a local case.”

The man nods solemnly. “Of course, please come through to my office.”

We show him our agency ID badges and explain why we’re sitting in his office.

“Poor Ralph,” he mutters with a shake of the head. “He always liked to push his luck. Though I never imagined it would amount to this sorry situation.”

“So, it’s highly unethical but we need to know who will stand to benefit from his death,” I say. “Who gets the castle? The bulk of the inheritance?”

“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that,” the solicitor replies.

CHAPTER NINE

“There’s no one main beneficiary for the castle and estate at Collzean,” Mr Hargreaves explains when he sits back at his desk with a bunch of official papers in his hand.

“We wondered if that might be the case because several members of his family seem to think they stand to inherit,” I admit.

“And indeed they do,” he continues. “Emily McDonald is to retain her beloved gatehouse. Her daughter Henrietta, the eldest daughter I might add, is to get a cottage in the grounds of the estate. The second wife and middle daughter both also get a cottage in the grounds. The current wife and the youngest daughter get to stay on and live in the castle and help look after the estate, getting an annual pay out each amounting to ten per cent of the estate’s income.”

I frown. “But who actually inherits the castle and estate? You said the current wife and youngest daughter can live there and get an income from the estate but who will own it?”

The solicitor looks distinctly uncomfortable as he shuffles the papers around on his desk, delaying the moment of truth.

“Who inherits the castle?” Jake presses.

“Fergus, the castle and estate manager,” Mr Hargreaves eventually admits.

“What?” I gasp. “Why?”

And then the bits of the puzzle start to fall into place. “Fergus is Sir Ralph’s one and only son, isn’t he?”

Mr Hargreaves nods. “I’m afraid so, yes.”

“So this guy is Sir Ralph’s illegitimate son,” Jake says, then turns to me to add, “How did you know?”

“When I was talking to him at the party last night Fergus was saying about how he used to work at a hunting lodge in Canada. I asked him how he knew about Collzean and he said somebody had visited and told him all about it. Then Fergus said he felt the desire to return home to Scotland to be with his family. I assumed he meant his regular family but it must have been Sir Ralph who went to Canada and tracked down his only son. He must have told Fergus and hence he came back to Scotland and immediately got a job at Collzean, though nobody knew who he really was except for Sir Ralph.”

“The family will not be amused when they find out,” Jake sighs.

The solicitor clears his throat. “That, sir, is a major understatement.”

We leave the office and wander back to my car.

“What now?” Jake ponders as we climb inside, glad to be out of the cold wind now barrelling along the village street.

“I guess we do some digging about Fergus,” I reply, starting the car up.

We find a bakery which thankfully also houses a small tea room. After ordering drinks and cakes we take a seat at the table in the bay window and begin some background research on Fergus. Everything seems to match up to what he told me at the ball last night. His time in Canada, where he worked, when he returned to Scotland and pitched up at Collzean.

“It might be best if you have a friendly chat with him again,” Jake suggests.

I nod. “I think so too.”

When we arrive back at the castle, Jake disappears off inside and I scoot round to the estate office, which turns out to be a converted barn in a courtyard of buildings around the side of Collzean. I knock on the door and Fergus answers.

“Hello again,” he smiles. “Come in, take a seat. How are you feeling after last night’s ball?” He rubs at his head. “I’m feeling a trifle worse for wear I’m afraid.”

“Same here,” I fib.

Taking a seat behind a battered old desk he eyes me cautiously. “Is something else amiss? You look... apprehensive.”

“I heard something,” I begin. “Through a friend of a friend.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“That you’re Sir Ralph’s illegitimate son and that you stand to inherit everything at Collzean. Is it true?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat he avoids meeting my eye.

“Is it?” I press.

Eventually he nods. “Though the family don’t know and they might well attack me with pitchforks and run me off the property when they do discover who I really am. How on earth did you find out?”

He gets to his feet, both hands gripping the edge of the desk. “You’re not a friend of Emily’s daughter are you?” He swears and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you some undercover policewoman?”

“Kind of.” I show him my agency badge.

He hands it back and shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of this CCIA. So you’re here investigating what happened to Sir Ralph.”

It strikes me as odd that he’s referring to his father in such a way but then he’s had to call him that, hasn’t he? Sir Ralph was simply his employer as far as everyone was concerned, not his father.

“Yes. I’m sorry to say this but I have to ask. You told me you were the one who found Sir Ralph but was it actually you who murdered him and then rang the police, claiming to have discovered him?”

He looks horrified. “No! Of course not! The man was my father. He tracked me down in Canada, he came to see me, he offered me a job here and a home and he said that one day... all of this would be mine.”

“Our recent research suggests your bank account is woefully low and that you have no savings. Perhaps some money in the form of an inheritance might come in handy?”

“OK, so I’m not rich but I get a half decent wage and my lodgings are free with the job. I’m not a materialistic person, money beyond basics for food and bills doesn’t interest me. Anyway, if I do inherit Collzean I still won’t be rich unless I sell the place and I would never do that. Getting the chance to run the castle and estate and care for it would be a privilege.”

This guy is either a very good actor or he’s telling the truth because he’s pretty convincing. I get to my feet. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He waves away my words. “I have work to do, if you’ll excuse me.”

As I wander back across the courtyard my gut instincts tell me that Fergus didn’t murder his father in order to inherit the estate.

So who did murder him?

CHAPTER TEN

“So it wasn’t him?” Jake sighs when we meet once more in the castle’s library.

“I don’t think so.”

“How old is Fergus?”

“Thirty five.”

“So Ralph would have been married to Emily, his first wife, when Fergus was conceived during an affair? Right?” Jake checks.

“Yes, I think that would fit with the other dates.” I get up from the sofa and walk to the window. “I wonder if Sir Ralph has any other illegitimate children running around out there.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Me neither.” Outside, across the expanse of lawn that edges this side of the castle, I see Henrietta, daughter number one, strolling arm in arm with a man that I seem to recall seeing her dance with several times at the ball. I wonder who he is. Are they an item?

The library door opens and Fergus steps into the room, then sees us.

“I’m sorry,” he says coldly, immediately retreating.

“Wait!” I say, ushering him towards the window. “Do you know who this man is with Henrietta?”

He nods. “That’s William Hargreaves. He’s the son of the local solicitor. A big shot lawyer who divides his time between London and Edinburgh. They have been dating for a while now.”

Interesting.

“Fergus, when Sir Ralph came to see you at the hunting lodge in Canada, did he bring Henrietta on holiday with him by any chance?”

“Why yes, she was with him.”

“And did she recognise you when you turned up here at Collzean?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Thanks, Fergus,” I smile, leading him to the library door. “You’ve been a great help and I’m so sorry about what I said to you earlier.”

Once he’s out of the door, I turn to Jake. “I think we might be making some progress on this case!”

“You think you know who killed Sir Ralph?”

“Maybe. Just maybe.”

“And?” Jake prompts.

“Henrietta is the eldest daughter. If she was the eldest son then she would inherit the castle and estate no questions asked but because she’s a woman the ancient laws relating to Collzean say everything should go to a man.”

“But in theory there is no legal son to inherit,” Jake adds.

“Henrietta was in Canada with her father when he tracked Fergus down at the hunting lodge. I wonder if she suspected there was something amiss, especially when Fergus then turned up soon after here at Collzean.”

Jake jumps in. “And you think she did some digging via her lawyer boyfriend who just happens to be the son of the local solicitor who is handling Sir Ralph’s Will and she uncovers the truth about who Fergus is?”

“Exactly! Her husband disappeared mysteriously at some hunting lodge in Canada and was presumed to have met his end in a bear attack but maybe...”

“Maybe she killed him!” Jake finishes.

“It all seems to make sense. Henrietta and presumably the lawyer beau were here at the castle in preparation for the party and had the motive and opportunity to do away with Sir Ralph.”

“But she’s still not going to gain anything,” Jake interjects. “The castle goes to Fergus, not to her. If she wanted to try and inherit the castle she’d have needed to kill Fergus.”

“Maybe he’s next on her list – victim number three!”

“OK, if Henrietta and her boyfriend are the ones behind the murder, how do we prove it?” Jake asks.

“Good question!” I say, flopping onto the sofa to try and figure out how we find out if my guess is correct or not.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

So, how do we see if Henrietta is the murderer with her boyfriend as the accomplice? I start with asking agency HQ to access her phone, bank and other personal records. Then Jake and I take a stroll down to the gatehouse lodge for another chat with Emily.

“Back so soon?” she says as she welcomes us into her home.

This could be tricky. After all, Henrietta is her daughter. I’ve already offended Fergus by hinting he might be the murderer, I’m sure Emily is not going to take kindly to the idea her only daughter could have been behind the murder of Sir Ralph.

“I wondered if we could ask you about Canada,” I venture as I take a seat at the dining table in the lodge’s kitchen. Jake leans against the pine dresser.

“What? The hunting lodge? Sir Ralph used to love going there for a holiday.”

I smile, working my way into the conversation carefully. “Did you go with him?”

“No, never my thing. Henrietta went over there a couple of times though. She loved it.”

“Isn’t that where her husband died though? The incident with a wild bear?” I edge.

“Yes it was.” Emily shakes her head. “Terrible business. She was distraught. Though by that stage their marriage was over bar the legalities. They were going to call in the lawyers upon their return.”

“Oh, how dreadful.”

“Did they ever say the reason for the split?” Jake asks.

“I’m afraid Ralph may have had a hand in things. You see, he wanted to leave the castle to a male, as per silly traditions in the clan. He rather liked Gerald, that’s Henrietta’s husband. Ralph drew up some paperwork with his solicitor that said Gerald would inherit if he changed his surname to McDonald. Henrietta was absolutely livid when she found out. She always protested that it was stupid the castle couldn’t pass to a daughter and that it was high time for a change in chauvinistic traditions. It caused many arguments between father and daughter as well as between husband and wife. Then when Ralph and I split after...” she pauses before pressing on. “Anyway, it was all very unfortunate.”

Jake asks the question before me. “Why did you split up?”

Emily looks uncomfortable. “Something happened and I... found out.”

“Something like an affair perhaps?” I say.

She nods. “Ralph was a flirt and naively I always believed that was as far as it went but one day I got a call from a woman and I finally took my head out of the sand and accepted what he’d been up to. We argued and that was the start of the end.”

I wonder if she knows the truth about Fergus. I don’t feel it my place to tell her though if she doesn’t.

We thank Emily and head back to the castle. Henrietta and her beau are just loading suitcases into a car as we approach.

They climb into the Range Rover and roar off down the drive.

Just then Fergus appears with a large bin liner.

“Busy?” I ask cheerfully, aware I still need to make amends with the man.

“Henrietta just gave me some rubbish to ditch,” he says, lifting the bin liner higher.

Hmm... I wonder.

“I’ll throw it in the old furnace that heats the outbuildings. She insisted it was to be burned but the ground is still too damp to make a bonfire.”

“Any chance we could take a look through the rubbish first?” I ask tentatively.

Fergus looks puzzled but hands the bag over. “Bring it back to me in the estate office when you’re done?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

We empty the bag round the side of the castle and explore the contents. And that’s when we find a piece of rope wrapped up in a checked shirt.

Bingo. Could this be the murder weapon?

It looks like we may indeed have found our murderer and her accomplice.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So that’s that sorted,” I say to Jake as we load our bags into respective cars. “Another case concluded.”

All of the evidence stacked up and we did have the proof we needed to track down the murderer. Henrietta was so angry with her father she had created a plan to do away with him and then kill off Fergus. She eventually confessed to everything, claiming circumstances had pushed her to do it.

“Yep, the agency sent somebody to arrest Henrietta and William when they arrived back in London. I like to see a case resolved but this one has a rather sad ending to it.”

“Yes, very sad. Poor Emily, she seems a lovely woman but now she’s left with the aftermath of her daughter being a murderer as well as discovering Ralph’s illegitimate son will be taking over the estate – all while mourning the loss of Ralph.”

“Yeah, it’s tough,” Jake agrees.

“Well, I’d best get going, duty calls,” I say as I hop into my car.

Jake closes the door behind me and I buzz the window down.

“Great working with you, Abi,” he beams. “You know you’re my favourite sleuthing partner.”

I smile. “Thanks, Jake.”

He steps back, faux clutching at his chest. “Abi Anderson, no reciprocation from you! You break my heart every time you reject me.”

As I hit the button to buzz the car window up I shout, “I’m not rejecting you!”

Whizzing off down the drive, I glance in my rear-view mirror and see Jake standing next to his car, grinning from ear to ear.

THE END

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