Page 36 of Death at a Highland Wedding
I think he’s echoing my warning, maybe needling me, but his expression is serious. He means that whatever we’re seeing may have been caught by a trap. A deer or some kind of large…
I slow as I catch sight of folded fabric. Black, like the wing of a raven. In my mind, I see that fabric flapping in the wind, reminding me of bird’s wings.
Cranston, striding out the other night, his distinctive coat flapping behind him. For a moment, I’m hoping it’s just the jacket, somehow left behind. Then I see a head protruding over the top of the jacket, facedown in the grass, brown hair bloodied from an ugly gash in the back of his skull.
McCreadie bends and lifts the man’s shoulder, and I brace to see Archie Cranston.
But I don’t.
I see Ezra Sinclair.
TWELVE
This first thing Gray does is check for signs of life. Yes, Sinclair is cold. Yes, his eyes are open. Yes, he’s in rigor. None of that will matter to loved ones who will want to be absolutely certain they didn’t miss a chance to save him.
Once that’s done, Gray eases back onto his haunches, and McCreadie lays a hand on his shoulder. I let them have a moment of silence before I say, quietly and respectfully, “You’d known him a long time.”
“Since we started school,” McCreadie says. “Duncan and I were friends with Ezra in those early days. It was often the three of us…” He trails off as his throat clogs. He clears it. “That was very long ago. I have known Archie even longer, from our parents’ acquaintance, and there was a time when the four of us attempted a rather awkward quartet, before…”
“Before Archie and I collided one too many times,” Gray says, rising. “We simply could not get on. When the dust settled, Ezra had broken off with Archie.” Gray pauses. “That was understandable, I fear. Hugh and I were better friends. Ezra sometimes felt like…”
“A third wheel?” I say.
When their brows rise, I say, “I’m guessing that idiom gains popularity with the rise of two-wheeled conveyances, like bicycles.”
“Ah,” McCreadie says. “Yes. I see. A third wheel on a bicycle is superfluous, and the idiom would apply. Whenever three children are friends, it is likely that two will be closer, and that was myself and Duncan.”
McCreadie clears his throat. “And that is a poor eulogy for a good man—reminiscences on his early life as a ‘third wheel.’ We have not seen much of Ezra since school, but our paths did cross sometimes, and I was always glad of it.”
Another moment, and McCreadie shakes himself. “We will need to report this, both to the household and to the authorities, as it is obvious he did not inflict that injury himself.” He looks at me. “Could this have been who you saw last night? Ezra in Archie’s coat? It is very distinctive, and their hair would appear a similar color in the dark.”
“I didn’t actually see anyone,” I say. “I noticed Archie’s coat was gone, so I presumed it was on him, because I’d seen him out wearing it the night before—along with Ezra.” I look down at Sinclair’s body. “But the mistake would be easy to make.” I ease back. “Archie said Ezra was fond of night walks. He goes out last night and takes Archie’s warmer coat. Anyone seeing him could, I think, mistake him for Archie. He’s a couple of inches shorter and somewhat slighter, but like the difference in hair color, that would have been less obvious at night.”
“Also he was attacked from behind,” McCreadie says. “His killer did not see his face, and likely mistook him for Archie.”
“Wedidsee someone last night,” I say. “A woman. We couldn’t tell who it was. We didn’t mention that because, well, we presumed whoever we saw was headed out to meet with your sister’s fiancé.”
McCreadie nods, looking down at Sinclair, as if deep in thought.
I glance at Gray. “We’re going to need to get our story straight, and I suggest we stick with the truth.”
Gray frowns. “About noticing the missing jacket and seeing a woman? Certainly.”
“She means about you two being out,” McCreadie says. “I will not be in charge of the investigation, which means you will be interviewed. In order to say you saw a woman—which you must—you need to explain why you were out. I would strongly suggest, as Mallory implied, that you do not attempt to make up some more comfortable excuse.”
I nod toward Sinclair. “This is a murder investigation, and I have no idea what to expect from the local constabulary.”
“Not much, I fear,” McCreadie mutters. “Even admitting you were out of doors last night will brand you as suspects.”
“But we do need to admit it,” I say. “Both to mention the woman and to avoid later being caught in a lie.”
“All right,” Gray says. “So we admit we were out together… accepting whatever scandal follows.”
“Better scandal than murder charges,” I say. “We tell the truth. I didn’t sleep well the night before, which multiple people know. You offered a moonlight walk. I have the note, which says exactly that.”
Gray glances away, his jaw working.
I lower my voice. “If this would hurt your reputation—”
