Page 84 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“We could have vital information you need for your interview,” I say. “And you wouldn’t get it until you were back. I really miss cell phones. Hell, I misstelephones.”
“Poor Mallory,” McCreadie says, “stuck with our primitive methods of communication.”
“The problem,” Gray says, “is that if Lenore and Gavin Hall suddenly departed, it makes them excellent suspects.”
“Or just excellent witnesses,” I say. “Imagine you saw a murder andbelieved the killer may have also spotted you. You might decide to go visit a distant relative for a while. Especially if you were committing a crime when you witnessed the murder. Either way, it means we really should talk to them. But Hugh’s right—it’s so early in the investigation that he’d be rushing off without all the facts.”
I look at McCreadie. “Is there any way to compel them to return?”
“As potential witnesses to a murder?” He shakes his head. “Even if I were the officer in charge of the case, I could not do that. I would need to chase after them.”
“There is Mrs. Hall,” Gray muses. “We wish to speak to her children, and she is here, in Archie’s employ.”
McCreadie’s brows shoot up. “Are you suggesting we use her position as leverage to compel her children’s return?”
“In the pursuit of a killer, I do not think strong persuasion is out of line.”
“Oh, I am not complaining. I am only surprised. Terribly Machiavellian of you, old chap.”
Gray rolls his eyes, and then slides them my way. “Mallory?”
“From what I’ve seen of her, she won’t respond well to blatant threats. Considering Lenore and Gavin are young adults and still come to visit her at work, I’m guessing it’s a good relationship. I would suggest obvious manipulation.”
“Obviousmanipulation?” Gray says.
I shrug. “Don’t try to trick her. Let her see that she’s being bribed, but also let her see that it’s in her family’s best interests. Archie is definitely firing Müller, and he seemed inclined to rehire Mr. Hall. If Archie agrees, let Mrs. Hall know that’s the plan… and that it’s important for her children to return to give their testimony. Tell her they’ll be protected—we’ll send a coach if that helps—and that we consider them witnesses only and understand why they’d be spooked if they saw the murder.”
McCreadie nods slowly. “That could work. Mrs. Hall will see the bribe, but we are not insulting her intelligence by pretending the two things—her children returning and her husband being rehired—are unconnected. We need only to get Archie’s agreement.”
“Which can be done tomorrow when Fiona takes him food.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Once again, I can’t sleep. This time, even having a tiny furry roommate doesn’t distract me. I cuddle the wildcat kitten, who has decided she will tolerate such things, and I play “catch the finger” with her for a few minutes, until her excited squeaks have Alice tossing and turning. With one last apologetic pat, I set the kitten back in her box, put on my wrapper and slippers, and then head into the hall.
Of course, once out of the room, I have no idea what to do. I wouldn’t bother Isla. While I’d love to poke my head into Gray’s room, hoping the sound will wake him, that’s wrong. Plus it runs the risk of me being caught coming or going from his bedchamber.
I wander downstairs. The house is silent and still. As I scan the hall, I remind myself that I’m not nearly the “guest” I was on my first night here. Everything is so topsy-turvy that no one would blink twice at Gray’s assistant availing herself of the library at night.
I slip in there, and once I do, I need to kick myself for being a lousy detective. Apparently, I haven’t paid nearly enough attention to this room or I’d have noticed that the library has a distinct lack of books.
There’s a desk and bookshelves, but those shelves are mostly bare, the few items gracing them being knickknacks that seem to have been left by the previous owner. Just random Victorian bric-a-brac, mostly imitation antiquities, like a statue of a Greek nymph and a Chinese vase. The half-dozenbooks also seem to have been left behind, all nonfiction of the sort guaranteed to cure my insomnia.
I should have brought a book. Gray’s house is certainly full of them, fiction and reference, and no one would have objected to me taking one on the trip. I’m just still too accustomed to my world, where I always have a device, and that device will hold my latest novel plus a virtual to-be-read shelf.
I should ask whether Isla brought books. I remember her coming downstairs today holding one, and I’m sure she brought a backup. For now, I’m stuck leafing throughThe Wealth of Nations.Yes, I know it’s a classic, written by a Scottish economist and philosopher, but holy shit is it boring. The guy will make an interesting point and then go on for dozens of pages explaining it with examples that probably made sense to an eighteenth-century reader—or a historian—but I’mdying.So when footsteps sound in the hall, I shut the book in relief.
I resist the urge to hide, but I don’t call out a greeting either. Those footsteps are moving so slowly and lightly that it’s clear the person doesn’t want to be heard. After they’ve gone past the library door, I slide the book aside and rise.
The footsteps continue deeper into the house. I tilt my head, frowning as I try to figure out where they’re going. The kitchen for a snack? No, the steps are coming back my way.
I hold my breath and wait. The footfalls pass and return to the stairs. Going back up? That’s odd. Is someone sleepwalking?
I creep to the door as a stair creaks, as they return upstairs. Were they down here checking whether anyone else was awake? Like me, unable to sleep, hoping for company?
Gray wouldn’t creep about. Isla and McCreadie might, not wanting to wake anyone. Or could it have been Alice, waking to find me gone? That’s the most likely answer.
I head back to the stairs. As I near them, though, the door that clicks shut is on the next level. Not Alice then. If it was Isla or McCreadie, I’m sorry I missed them.
