Page 86 of Death at a Highland Wedding
She says nothing. Just watches. After all, I haven’t asked a question, have I?
I continue, “I wouldn’t have mentioned it to Dr. Gray or Detective McCreadie. Obviously you are not the killer. But then Detective McCreadie learned of a note sent to one of the women, from Mr. Sinclair, inviting them to join him at the small lake, which is exactly where you seemed to be going.”
Still she says nothing. Smart, really. If there’s one piece of legal advice that clients often ignore, it’s this: Don’t volunteer information. Especially don’t volunteer it when the cops haven’t asked an actual question. That goes for the innocent as well as the guilty.
“I will need to speak to Dr. Gray,” I say. “That is one of the things that has kept me up tonight—the fear that I have already held back too much. It will help, though, if I can say I spoke to you about it already. Dr. Gray will see that you had nothing to do with Mr. Sinclair’s death and there might be no need to bother Detective McCreadie with it.”
Oh, that’s low. Very low. I should be ashamed of myself. But I need to take the shot. I am here to solve a case, not to be nice, even to a woman who probably deserves a little more niceness in her life.
Sure enough, Violet flinches at McCreadie’s name, and a look like horror crosses behind her eyes. I said I’d seen her, but she hadn’t taken that to the obvious end point—that I needed to tell her former fiancé she’d been meeting a man last night.
“I know it was you,” I say, my voice lowered. “If I could say I was not sure, I might be able to ignore it, but I cannot.”
“It was not what it seems,” she says quickly. “I realize how it might appear, but Ezra is”—her gaze shoots to the bed—“wasmy brother’s best friend. I have known him for most of my life. Yes, he sent me a message. Yes, he asked me to meet him at the lake. I expected he wished to offer quiet sympathy, away from prying eyes. He knew I have been upset. It wasnot easy, being here.” She looks up at me. “I do not expect you to know this, but I once had an attachment to Hugh McCreadie.”
“You were engaged,” I say softly.
The look that crosses her face now is pure humiliation, and I hate that look so much. I hate that—years after a man decided not to marry her—she still bears that brand, feels that shame. That the worldexpectsher to be ashamed.
“I heard it ended,” I say. “It was arranged by your parents, and you and Detective McCreadie decided you did not suit.”
Those simple words—making the decision seem mutual—have her relaxing.
“Yes,” she says. “We did not suit, sadly. It can still be difficult, though, seeing him.”
“I can imagine.”
“I believe Ezra wished to lend me the proverbial sympathetic ear. Even a shoulder to cry on, if that was what I required. He was always kind to me. He treated me as if I werehissister.”
She quickly adds, “Not that I was in need of a better older brother. Archie is the best a woman could want. He has always watched out for me. But he can be… less than observant. If I admitted it bothered me to have Hugh here, he would have made arrangements for me or Hugh to stay elsewhere. But if I act as if it does not bother me, he does not see that it does. Some people need to be told a thing directly. They are not good at interpreting signs. That is my brother.”
“But Ezra was different.”
She manages a wan smile. “I have always thought the best friends are those who complement one another. Like Hugh and Duncan. That was Archie and Ezra. My brother cannot see anything that is not held in front of his face, while Ezra saw everything. He always knew what I needed. Last night, I needed a friend, and so I believe that is what he wanted to give me. Trusting him implicitly, I went out.”
I let the silence stretch. I can tell there’s more she wants to say, and after a moment she does.
“In light of what happened, though,” she says, “I have wondered whether he might have wanted to tell me something else.”
“Something that got him killed?”
She shakes her head. “I cannot imagine that. I know people believe Archie was the intended victim, and I would agree.” A weak smile. “My brother has that effect on people.”
“But Mr. Sinclair did not.”
She hesitates before shaking her head.
“You were thinking of something,” I press.
“Only that…” She trails off and plucks at her skirt. “I am overtired, and my mind is wandering.”
“When it comes to murder, Dr. Gray always says to tell him everything and he will determine what is important.” He says nothing of the sort to me, since that would be really condescending when speaking to a professional police detective, but it makes Violet nod in understanding.
“Yesterday, after that terrible business with the wildcat,” she says, “I saw Ezra speaking to Mr. Müller, who was most agitated. Later, I overheard Ezra with Archie, and Ezra seemed to be trying to dissuade him from letting the man go. That struck me as odd.”
“It was Mr. Sinclair who recommended Mr. Müller,” I say.
“Yes, but Ezra has apologized for that. He seemed most embarrassed to have made a poor recommendation. So why would he then argue to keep the man on?” Violet shakes her head. “I do not understand.”
