“ALaird,” he corrected. “Not a Lord.”
“What’sthe difference?” TJ spoke up from the backseat.
Brodieglanced behind him, after parking the car behind what I presumed to be Rick’sSUV. “A Lord is someone important. A Laird is just someone with a lot of houseand land.”
Weclimbed out and between the three of us, carried the bags we’d brought into afoyer nearly bigger than my entire house. I couldn’t help but gawk at the splitstaircase, the marble floor, and elaborately bejeweled chandelier, and Iwatched in wondrous interest as Brodie casually walked through to drop the bagson the floor.
“Areye hungry?” he asked, leading the way through a door into the biggest, mostopen kitchen I’d ever seen.
“Iguess,” I answered, while taking in the array of cabinets and counter space.
TJfound a seat at a round, clawfoot table in the breakfast nook, overlooking whatwas clearly a backyard suitable of a house like this. He was quiet, juststaring at the tabletop and his hands, and I knew I would have to talk to him.I would have to be the parent in this situation and comfort him, but selfishly,all I could wonder was,who the hell is going to comfort me?
Brodieopened cabinets and the fridge, rifling through their contents, and pilingrandom bits of food up on the counter, until there was a wide assortment to choosefrom. He gestured at the whole lot of it and shrugged, as he said, “Helpyerself.”
Butneither TJ nor I moved. We just stared at the pile of packages and containers,exhausted and emotionally stripped down until every nerve ending was exposed tothe elements. My whole body ached with every torturous beat of my heart, and Irealized that, despite not having eaten all day, I wasn’t the slightest bithungry. I was tired, I was angry and sad, but most of all, I just missed mysister.
Rickwalked into the room, to find the three of us gathered around the pile of food.At first, I thought he might say something about the mess or why we were in hishouse, but he just pushed some chips and crackers aside and laid down thepapers tucked under his arm.
“Iwant ye to know, I don’t have the equipment to do a proper postmortem,” he saidsternly, volleying his eyes between Brodie and me.
“Iken,” Brodie muttered.
“Yewouldaehad more luck if ye had spoken to someoneelse at the forensics lab.”
“Andwhat if that someone else then talked to William?” Brodie challenged, raising adark brow to his friend.
“Yedinnaeken they—”
“Exactly.Wedinnaeken. And besides, we’re notlookin’ forluck,” Brodie answered, his voice firmand gruff. “We’relookin’ for a general explanationas to how she died.”
Ricknodded solemnly, then looked behind him, to my son sitting at the table. Heasked, “Are ye okay to hear this,laddie?”
TJnodded. “I want to hear it.” I opened my mouth to protest, taking a step towardhim, and he held up his hand to stop me. “I want to hear this, Mom!”
Theprotective mother in me wanted to urge him from the room and send him away. Tosend him home altogether, far away from Scotland and murder. But the damage wasdone, and now, there was a new part of me speaking. The part that knew he hadgrown up fast within this past week, and within the hour of learning of hisaunt’s murder. I needed to allow him to make this choice for himself. So, Inodded for Rick to continue, not sure I wanted to hear his findings myself.
“Well,”he began in a somber voice, accompanied by a sigh, “I can say for certain thiswas no accident.”
“We’reaware,” Brodie replied impatiently.
Rickeyed his friend with irritation. “Ye made mention of marks on her neck,” hesaid, and Brodie nodded. “Well, they were there, and along with those marks,there’s also the fractured hyoid bone, which is typical in strangulation. I’mgonnamake an educated guess and assume this was the causeof death.”
“Thatwasnaementioned in the report,” Brodie muttered, abland, unsurprised tone to his voice.
“There’salso the depressed skull fracture, which is consistent with blunt forcetrauma—”
“Fromthe fall, right?” TJ surprised me by speaking up as he stood from the table.
Rickturned and offered the boy a small, sympathetic smile. “With this particularfracture, I’m more inclined to think it occurred from being struck bysomethin’ smaller, like a hammer, perhaps.”
TJwilted before my eyes as his gaze dropped to the floor and his shoulderssagged. “Oh.”
“Noneof the injuries are likely to have occurred from a fall, and I’m more inclinedto think she was placed there, in the forest, to look as though she fell to herdeath.”
“Canyou suffer a hyoid fracture from falling?” I asked, grasping at straws oranything to finally put this all to rest. Just so it couldendand I could take my son and sister home.
Rickwas a tall, scruffy looking man, with an assortment of bandages adorning hisfingers and hands, like he'd lost one too many battles with a thorn bush. Hishair was an unruly mess of curls and length that could have been a little morecontrolled with a decent haircut and brush, and his clothes were about asrumpled as his friend, Brodie's. In my mind, with his down-turned mouth and sadeyes, he fit the part of funeral director to a perfect T, always looking asthough he could burst into tears at any moment. And now, as I watched any shredof lingering hope darken in his eyes, I imagined I knew what it was like to beone of his clients, and I wished to be anything but that.
