Page 94 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“These were found on the grounds at the estate,” I say. “We believe they belonged to Nora.”
“Oh,” she says. “No, those are not Nora’s.”
When I hesitate, she calls Mary over and shows her, asking whether she’s ever seen them before.
“No, ma’am,” Mary says to me. “Those were not my sister’s.” She picks up the ring, frowning.
“You recognize that?” I say. “It could belong to another girl in the village.”
“It looks familiar,” Mary murmurs. “But I do not recall where I’ve seen it.”
“We will take them back then,” I say. “We do wish to return them to their rightful owner, so if you remember who that ring belongs to, Mary, please let us know.”
“We will,” her mother says.
THIRTY-ONE
We’re having tea on the lawn back at the estate. By this point, even I’m starting to feel rude, separating myself from other guests, eating my meals closeted away in private conference with my friends. I remind myself this isn’t like going to a party and monopolizing those I know. There’s been a murder, and these are my fellow investigators, and we can hardly discuss the case in the drawing room.
Gray is with us. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the events outside the stable, and apparently, he’s going to act as if nothing happened. He settles into the empty chair and takes a tart from the platter.
Do I notice that he doesn’t look my way? Do the others notice? Yes and yes, but McCreadie and Isla are clearly leaving us to work this out on our own, and I appreciate that.
To be bluntly honest, while I bristle at Gray’s reaction—or lack thereof—I’m also glad of it. I don’t want to get into this now. In fact, I’d be happier if we never got into it. Let his proposal fall by the wayside, as if it didn’t happen. If that means it takes him some time to warm up again, at least he isn’t giving me the cold shoulder while engaging the others in conversation. He eats and sips his tea and listens, and when I talk, he looks my way. Good enough.
“The items are not Nora’s?” McCreadie says when I finish the story.
“They could still be,” Isla says. “Perhaps she was not supposed to have them. It could be that a boy gave her the embroidered hair ribbon or ring.Or she bought them with money her parents did not know she had. It might be better to speak to her older sister in private.”
“I thought of that,” I say, “and I agree. Her sister recognized the ring, and while she genuinely didn’t seem to know from where, she still might know more, especially about any problems with Müller. However, given her mother’s account of the incident, my gut says there wasn’t any molestation there. Nora returned home bubbling with a story to tell.”
“She thought it a proper lark,” McCreadie says. “Fleeing the ogre and skipping home to embellish the tale with stories of curses.”
“Which no adults seem to have believed,” I say. “One of the children must have, and they left that note in our coach when they heard—wrongly—that Archie was dead.”
“Except Archie was not the ogre,” Isla says. “He was not even there at the estate when Mr. Müller ran Nora off.”
“Is it possible,” Gray says slowly, “that we have misinterpreted the note?” He shoots me a look and adds quickly, “Not to question your interpretation, Mallory, as it was my own as well. Also, it was not our interpretation at all but Mrs. Rendall’s.”
“Good point,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. “We’ll need to take another look at it.”
“And find out who that ring and ribbon belong to,” Isla says.
McCreadie and I exchange a look. How important is that? Neither of us is sure. It seems more of a mini-mystery, unrelated to the murder. Like the killing of the wildcat. Both of them could be something… but both could be just mysteries cropping up at the same time by sheer coincidence.
The wildcat killing is linked if the murder had something to do with Cranston planning to fire Müller. Otherwise, it’s just Müller poisoning a cat and staging it to look like the trap got it. Likewise, the ring, ribbon, and piece of bloomers could represent an unrelated crime committed by Müller.
I just don’t like how it all keeps coming back to Müller.
“Duncan and I need to speak to Mr. Müller,” McCreadie says, as if reading my thoughts. “I say we go in hard and show him what we found, see how he reacts.”
“Mallory would be better suited for that,” Gray murmurs. “I am a poor judge of such things. She is the expert.”
Okay, someone’s trying for brownie points.
“I’d happily go,” I say, “but how would that work considering the nature of what we found? Part of a girl’s bloomers? With two men, Müller might just claim they’re mementos of a consensual fling. Would he say that in front of me?”
Isla snorts. “He would absolutely say that in front of you, Mallory. A decent man would not, but I have seen how he looks at you.”
