Page 44 of Death at a Highland Wedding
Isla sips her whisky. “While I applaud Mallory’s optimism, what are the chances that such a young man is, in fact, a genius detective?”
“Hey, look at me.” I spread my arms. “Twenty years old, and a damn fine investigator, according to Hugh here. Plus I’m a woman, which makes my competence truly shocking.”
McCreadie points his glass at me. “I did not say that last part.”
“Also, you are not actually twenty,” Isla says.
“Prove it.”
She turns to face me. “Prove you are. Show me your certificate of birth.”
I don’t answer that. Catriona has no ID. That’s shocking to me, coming from a world where you don’t leave the house without something to prove that you are who you say you are. But here, with no driver’s licenses, health cards, credit cards, or even library cards, it’s entirely possible that Catriona’s lack of ID isn’t even suspicious… though personally, I think it is.
“We will deal with Ross,” McCreadie says. “I am only frustrated that ‘dealing’ with him is indeed what we shall need to do. I would happily have consigned the investigation to an experienced officer.”
Both Isla and I give him a look.
“Fine,” he says. “I would not have beenhappyabout it, but I would have accepted it.”
We keep looking at him.
He throws up his hands. “I would have been disappointed. Is that what you wish me to say? I would have reluctantly—but willingly—consigned the investigation to a more experienced officer while still politely noting my own experience and offering my assistance. I would have even more happily tutored Ross, and I struggle to understand why a young officer wouldnotwant that. I offered tutelage without the expectation of payment or credit.”
“Not everyone jumps at the chance to learn from experts,” I say.
“Unfathomable, really.”
“Agreed, but we can hope Ross will realize he’s in over his head—”
I stop short as the door opens. I sit up and straighten as Gray comes in, closes the door, and turns to me.
“Traitor,” he says.
I open my mouth.
“You abandoned me,” he says, stalking forward. “Left me in my hour of need to come in here, relax, and, apparently, sip whisky.”
My cheeks heat, as I start to rise. “I’m sorry. I—”
He waves me down. “I am teasing, Mallory.” He pauses. “Mostly. Seventy-five percent. Perhaps eighty.”
I exhale as I drop back to the couch. “You need to work on your poker face. It’s too good.”
His brows rise.
I continue, “I do feel bad about abandoning you, but every time Ross opened his mouth, I had to bite my tongue so hard that I started to worry about permanent damage. If you needed me, though, I’d have stayed. Seriously. You are my boss, Duncan. You can say no when I ask to leave.”
He waves that off and takes my whisky, downing the rest in a gulp before pouring another… which he also drinks.
“That bad, huh?” I say.
“You were right to go,” he says. “I know how much his cavalier attitude upset you, and your tension fed mine. It might have been easier if I did not know the victim. Know and like him, and…”
He shakes his head and reaches for the decanter, only to stop himself. Then he stands there a moment before clearing his throat. “And that is enough of that.”
Isla rises. “Hugh? You ought to see what Constable Ross is doing, yes? Even if you cannot intercede, you will want to know how he is conducting himself. Perhaps nudge him gently in the right direction? You are very good at being subtle.”
Yep, McCreadie is good at being subtle, far more so than Isla, as she hustles him out of the room. Once they’re gone, Gray lowers himself beside me on the settee, still holding his empty glass.
