Page 82 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“Nora Glass is—was—twelve. As far as I know, she never worked at the estate. She died earlier this spring after contracting measles.”
He blanches. “Of course. Yes, when I returned last month, I heard that a village child had died.” He sneaks a look at Fiona. “I ought to have offered condolences, I suppose.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “But again, I will handle these things, and no one would truly have expected it of a bachelor.” She frowns at me. “Did someone take umbrage at the lack of condolences? Enough to attack Archie over it? I cannot see that, but I do not know the local customs.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t hear anything like that. I did hear, though, that Nora was on the estate grounds shortly before she took ill.”
“What?” Cranston says, his surprise seeming genuine.
“She liked to walk on the grounds. Mr. Müller caught her and ran her off.”
He stares at me. “And then continued insisting we leave out those traps? Knowingchildrenplayed there?”
I note his use of “children.” Nora was twelve, on the cusp of puberty. In my experience, men who prey on children of that age are quick to mentally push them into the realm of adulthood. Young woman. Teenage girl. Not a child.
“Müller did not tell you about her?” I press.
“Certainly not. Likely because it meant I’d never have allowed the traps. I was already concerned that they might hurt someone.”
“Isn’t the point of traps to hurt someone?”
He gives me a hard look, as if I’m baiting him. “No, the point is to keep people out of the fields. To discourage poaching.”
“Poaching was a serious problem?”
“The former owner said it was. I have not been here long enough to judge for myself, but with all that is being said, I begin to wonder if his account was not exaggerated.”
“You heard about Nora’s death when you came back last month. When exactly was that?”
He provides the dates in May, which are a couple of weeks after Nora died. Before that, he’d been up briefly in March, but the mud made himdecide to wait until spring. He’d been up frequently last fall, hunting, and again in December, hosting friends, but since the new year, it’d been only the early March and late May trips. If that’s true, he wasn’t here anytime close to when Müller ran Nora off.
“There are villagers who may blame you for Nora Glass’s death,” I say.
He frowns. “They think she caught the measles on my estate? Duncan could set them straight on that.” He pauses. “Or do they think she caught it from Müller? I know there has been grave suspicion about him, as a foreigner.”
I tell him about the so-called curse and add, “The blame seems to come because you hired him.”
“Hired a foreign devil to chase off children and kill them with foreign curses?” He looks at Fiona. “You really believe we can socialize with these people?”
“Obviously not everyone thinks Müller cursed Nora,” I say. “It might only be a tale told among the children.”
“I am now a monster in the tales of the local children? Lovely.”
When I tell Cranston about the note, his shoulders slump and he shakes his head, muttering about the mess he’s gotten into.
“Detective McCreadie needs to look into it,” I say, “on the chance—however slim—that the killer targeted you for that. The problem is that he does not dare start asking questions in town, or Constable Ross will know he is investigating. We need an unrelated reason for speaking to Nora’s family. Fiona mentioned that you ought to have sent condolences. Might we do that, on your behalf? Claim that you only just heard of Nora’s death and, although you are obviously unable to visit yourself, you wanted to send something?”
His eyes narrow. “Will that not look like blood money, if they believe me responsible?”
“It would be a gift, not money. If they take offense, they will say so. If they feel, in any way, that you owe them, while I know that would be uncomfortable for you, it helps with the case. It would get them talking.”
“Fine. Whatever Hugh deems fit. I trust him to handle this correctly. Now, if you have more questions, is there any chance I can answer them while eating? I have not had a bite since last night.”
I pick up the basket. “Of course.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Before Cranston eats, I get his fingerprints, explaining that we believe the murder weapon may belong to him and we want to exclude his prints. He’s a little concerned, obviously, that his prints on the weapon could be used to convict him, but I promise that information will not be shared with Ross.
