Page 125 of Death at a Highland Wedding
She lights up at that. “His name is Owen, and he is very well. They are all so happy together, and I have never regretted my choice. I visit every year, and I am Aunt Violet, who brings toys and sweets. I was there just last month, with Archie as a matter of fact.” She pauses. “That was difficult, knowing how much Archie would love a nephew, but he still enjoyed Owen immensely.” She smiles. “And Owen still got to call him uncle. It was a most lovely time.”
She glances over, catching my expression and frowning. “Miss Mitchell? Are you all right?”
No, I’m really not.
Because I know who killed Ezra Sinclair. And I know why.
FORTY
I speak to Gray and McCreadie. I don’t tell them my conclusion—just what I’ve learned. They put that together with what we already know, and they draw the same conclusion, McCreadie seeming to age five years with it.
This was not what any of us wanted. Not even me. A few days ago, I’d have accepted this solution with indifference. Now, knowing the parties involved, I do not.
When we ask around inside, James Frye says he saw Cranston head off on horseback, riding along the road. That’s alarming. Maybe not surprising, but alarming.
Perhaps, at this point, we should all mount up and ride to stop our suspect from fleeing justice. Well, McCreadie could. I can barely ride, and Gray is not an expert horseman. But it says something about our reluctance that no one suggests this. We head off on foot instead, as if to say that if Cranston manages to escape, no one is overly keen to stop him.
He’s not fleeing, though. He’s riding with Fiona, and that’s even worse. We hear them in the distance, and she’s laughing. Is there flirtation in that laugh? I think so, though Cranston seems oblivious and only responds with a fraternal sort of affection.
When I arrived, I’d been horrified by the thought of this vivacious girl marrying that insensitive boor. But I will admit I’d been wrong, and intheir laughter and teasing, it’s like witnessing the start of a romance. I see a future here… and I’m about to end it.
When McCreadie calls to the riders, they both seem startled, but Fiona approaches, smiling in obvious delight.
“Where are your horses?” she says. “Go saddle some up and come ride with us before supper. Archie has promised to show me a secret path.”
“Perhaps later, Fee,” McCreadie says. “For now, we must speak to Archie. Alone.”
Fiona opens her mouth as if to argue, but Cranston says, “Yes, I suspect your brother needs to have an overdue discussion with me.”
“You will make it up to me?” Fiona asks Cranston.
Cranston falters, and that falter erases any doubt. He knows why we’ve come.
“I will try,” he says.
She huffs but makes light of it and rides off. Once she’s out of sight, Cranston dismounts and walks his horse to us.
“So, what happens now?” he says. “Back to the constable, I presume.”
“You are not going to ask why we are here?” McCreadie says.
“Do I need to?”
“You don’t deny it?”
“Is there any point?”
McCreadie’s voice hardens. “So you have nothing to say.”
Cranston sighs. “I could explain myself, but that will come later, and I doubt it will do me any good. As you are someone whose opinion I value, I will say that I absolutely did not intend to kill Ezra. Yet I did, so that is no defense.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Cranston looks at him.
McCreadie says, “As a friend who almost saw you wed to his sister, I would like to hear your explanation.”
“I presume you’ve realized Ezra was not the excellent fellow I believed him to be. How much do you know?”
