

### Haunted to Death

A Jamie Brodie Mystery

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

© 2018 Meg Perry. All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The Jamie Brodie Mysteries

Cited to Death

Hoarded to Death

Burdened to Death

Researched to Death

Encountered to Death

Psyched to Death

Stacked to Death

Stoned to Death

Talked to Death

Avenged to Death

Played to Death

Filmed to Death

Trapped to Death

Promoted to Death

Published to Death

Cloistered to Death

Haunted to Death

### Prologue

Forres, Scotland

October 2017

Adam Grant pushed through the door of the Red Lion and scanned the pub until he spotted Scott Fraser in the next-to-last booth. As he approached, Scott lifted his hand in greeting. "I started wi'out ye."

"I see that." Adam dropped into the booth across from Scott and took a sip from the pint that Scott had ordered for him. "How are ye?"

"Fine, and yersel'?"

"No' bad. Spent half o' the day in meetings about the clan gathering."

"Have ye heard from the Brodie?"

"No' yet. I did have a bit o' information from Mary Carr at the castle, though."

Scott raised his eyebrows at Adam over the rim of his pint. "Aye, and wha's that?"

"Jamie Brodie is coming for the gathering. Bringing his whole family. They've let the castle for a week and a half."

Scott grinned. "Och, Moira'll be pleased to hear that. She and Jamie were thick as thieves by the end o' last summer."

"Mm. I'm thinkin' young Jamie must have some money."

Scott considered that. "Aye. Ten days in the castle, and six weeks in East Lodge last year? No' exactly a tourist budget."

"Nor a librarian's salary. Even in California." Adam shrugged. "But he doesna act the part."

"Nae. As down to earth as you'd want, both him and the Ferguson lad."

Scott and Adam's conversation moved on to more detail about the upcoming clan gathering. They finished their pints and headed out, saying goodbye at the pub entrance.

They didn't notice Calum Gordon, the disheveled man who slouched out after them, weaving slightly as he went to his motorbike.

In the recesses of Calum Gordon's ale-soaked brain, an idea was forming.

### Morayshire, Scotland

Late July 2018

Wednesday

I flipped on the blinker of the rented Vauxhall wagon and turned left from the A96 onto the tree-lined drive. In an identical vehicle behind me, my brother Kevin followed. From the back seat of my car, my brother Jeff said, "This is our land? I mean, not _ours_..."

I said, "I know what you mean. And, yes, it is." I slowed to allow Jeff and my sister-in-law Valerie to take in their first view of our ancestral pile.

Brodie Castle.

My immediate family was visiting the United Kingdom - specifically, Scotland - for two weeks. We'd landed in Glasgow three days ago. I'd stowed the family in a hotel within walking distance of everything; they'd seen the sights while I met with several of my friend Fiona Mackenzie's relatives, interviewing them for the new book I was writing. Now we were scheduled to stay for a week and a half here, on the opposite side of Scotland, in the Laird's Apartments of Brodie Castle. The castle was currently owned by the National Trust. After the last resident laird and his son had both died in 2003, the living quarters were remodeled into self-catering accommodations that could sleep fourteen people.

There were eight of us. We'd have plenty of room.

I pulled to the side of the drive, and we clambered out of the cars. Val said, "Dave, Jeff, Kev, Jamie, line up here. I want pictures."

We lined up in chronological order. My dad, Dave Brodie, retired Marine; my oldest brother, Jeff, a veterinarian; my middle brother, Kevin, a cop; and me, an academic librarian.

As we posed - Val kept moving around, taking photos from different angles - I studied our significant others. Jeff's wife Valerie, the stereotypical farm girl. Kristen Beach, sleek and stylish; Kevin's wife for nine months, my fellow librarian at UCLA for twelve years. Claudia Stratton, my dad's lady friend for ten months now, who'd fit into our family like a missing puzzle piece.

And my husband, Pete Ferguson, watching in amusement as we Brodie men followed Val's orders.

Kristen was wandering from the drive toward the surrounding trees, her head swiveling to and fro as she attempted to absorb it all. I called to her, "Whaddya think?"

"It's gorgeous. I understand why you love it here so much."

Pete said, "Wait 'til it rains. You might change your mind."

Kristen scoffed. "Are you kidding? I spent my first ten years of life in Seattle. I _adore_ rain."

Satisfied with her photos of us, Val lowered her phone and gazed around the landscape. "Is this farmland as fertile as it appears to be?"

I said, "I guess. I don't know what they grow here, though, other than grain and livestock."

Dad said, "Come on, everyone. I'm anxious to see the inside of this place."

We drove to the public parking lot - the castle was open to tourists daily in the summer - then followed the unmarked lane that led to the back of the castle, where we found two cars already parked. As we piled from our vehicles, a man emerged from a door in the back wall of the castle. He was probably around 70, wearing work pants and a sweater, a flat cap on his head. He grinned at us crookedly. "You'll be the Brodies, then?"

My dad said, "That's right. I'm Dave Brodie." He held his hand out to the man.

"Angus Grant." Angus shook my dad's hand. "We'll be distant cousins."

"It's always a pleasure to meet a cousin. These are my sons and their spouses."

Angus nodded to us as a group, either failing to note or failing to care that there weren't matching numbers of men and women. "And a fine-looking lot, they are. Bring your things and come with me. I'll guide ye to your rooms."

We gathered our luggage and followed Angus into the castle. I'd seen pictures of the Laird's Apartments, where Ninian Brodie, the grandfather of the current clan chief, had lived until his death, but I'd never been inside.

The pictures didn't do the place justice. Like the rest of the castle, the accommodations covered three floors. Immediately inside the door from the parking lot, to the left, was a tiny bathroom. The hallway leading into the rest of the house was lined with pictures of Brodies.

The next door led into an enormous dining room, with a table that would seat at least 16. Past the dining room was a landing with a grandfather clock and a spiral stairwell that twisted up to the top floor. We signed the guest book then followed Angus through the next door into the kitchen. Pete sucked in a breath. " _Whoa_."

The kitchen was huge and fitted with every appliance one could hope for, including a multi-oven range, and several wooden hutches that Val was salivating over. One of them displayed a full set of china; others held pots and pans. A farmhouse sink occupied one corner.

Claudia said, "We can cook while we're here, right?"

I said, "Absolutely. That's the idea of self-catering."

A small breakfast table stood in the center of the room. It wasn't large enough to accommodate all of us - but that long dining room table was just down the hall. Angus opened a closet door. "Here'll be your laundry facilities."

We climbed to the first floor - what we'd call the second floor, in the States - and entered the main sitting room. The walls were lined with art; the furnishings appeared to be comfortable enough. Around the corner was a mini-kitchen with another hutch holding cups and glasses; a sink, and a toaster. Perfect for making tea and toast if one was to become peckish in the middle of the night.

We next came to the first bedroom, with two single beds. Angus said, "None of you'll be staying in this room, I'll guess."

We murmured agreement. He nodded sagely and led us on to the next bedroom, which had a double bed and an adjoining bathroom with shower stall. Dad said, "Claudia, how about this one?"

"Yes."

Dad and Claudia dropped their bags onto the bed, and we continued on our tour. Next we came to another bathroom \- meant to serve the bedroom with the twin beds - that was far more old-fashioned, with a tub, sink, and toilet. The next room was an office, with comfortable chairs, a desk, a TV, and a terrific view of the gardens. Angus said, "This is the room with the computer connection. It's dodgy throughout the rest of the apartment."

Pete said, "Jamie, you'll be writing in here."

"Yup." I lowered my computer bag to the floor beside the desk, and we moved on to the second floor - third floor, to us - where the rest of the bedrooms were.

The master suite was gorgeous, with a four-poster double bed and a seating area. Angus said, "This was the laird's room."

The accompanying bathroom, once again, lacked a shower. Kristen said, "Who wants this room?"

Pete remained silent. I knew he was hoping for a room with a shower. Jeff and Val glanced at each other, conferring by some sort of long-married code, and Val said, "Why don't you and Kev take this one?"

Kevin said, "I won't object to that." He and Kristen left their bags, and we moved on.

The next two bedrooms both had twin beds. The nearby bathroom had toy soldier wallpaper; this must have been the kids' area. Not that there had been kids living here for a long time. The following bedroom also had twin beds; the last we came to had a queen-sized bed.

Jeff, Val, Pete and I looked at each other. I said, "Someone's gonna have to shove twin beds together."

Val said, "The joined twin beds will form a king-sized, and you two occupy the most real estate. Why don't you take a twin room?"

Pete shrugged. "Works for me."

Val was right. Pete was 6'4", and I topped out at just over 6'2". Our combined heights were the most of any other couple combination. Angus said, "That's the tour, then. I'm the caretaker for the grounds; I live just a quarter-mile down the road, toward town as you leave the main drive. I'll give you my mobile number, and you can call if you need anything. Day or night."

Dad said, "We appreciate that."

We all entered Angus's cell number into our own phones. He distributed keys to the outer door, then said goodbye and disappeared down the stairwell. Jeff and Val helped Pete and I rearrange the beds in the room we'd chosen, then went back to their own room to unpack.

Pete said, "We're sharing a bathroom with Jeff and Val."

"Unless we use the spare one on the floor below us."

"Either way, it's a bathroom with no shower. That's going to present a problem."

I turned from the wardrobe, where I was hanging my clothes, and raised an eyebrow at him. "We don't _have_ to have sex in a shower, you know."

"I know. But if we're not in a shower, we have to be _quiet_."

I laughed. "Everyone's gonna have to be quiet. Although the walls are thick."

Pete frowned. "Maybe we can figure out how to do it in the bathtub."

"Uh... I don't know about that. I don't think we'll both fit."

Pete got a gleam in his eye that I recognized. He'd accepted the challenge. "I bet we can work something out."

I was saved from having to respond by Val, who stuck her head through our open door. "Once we're unpacked, what's the plan?"

I said, "We need to go into town for groceries. Do you two want to cook tonight, or eat out?"

Val shrugged. "I don't care. Pete?"

"Let's cook tonight. Val, you and I should plan menus so we can make a grocery list."

I said, "We'll be eating lunch most every day in town, probably. Once the clan gathering starts, there will be food galore."

The other reason we were here was to attend a Brodie Clan gathering, the first to be held in years. The festivities would start on Saturday, in the nearby town of Forres, so we had a few days to settle in. Brodies were attending from all over the world, and the current clan chief - who lived abroad - was scheduled to appear at the opening. The president of Clan Brodie of the Americas, a guy from Tucson that my dad had met several times, would also be there.

Dad and Claudia appeared, dressed in walking clothes. Dad said, "We're going exploring. Anyone want to join us?"

Kevin and Kristen had come into the hallway outside our room as well. Kristen said, "Absolutely. Let me change my shoes."

Pete and Val sat down to construct a grocery list, and suddenly it was just Jeff and me. I said, "What do you think?"

"It's intensely ornate, isn't it?"

I laughed. "Wait until you see the tourist side of the castle. The Brodies had a taste for fine art and antiques."

"So why the financial problems? Why did the old man have to sell to the National Trust?"

I spread my hands in a wide shrug. "These Brodies had centuries of financial mismanagement behind them. I think the last laird was property rich and cash poor. He couldn't afford to keep the place up anymore, so he sold to the Trust with the understanding that he could live here for the rest of his life."

"How did his heirs feel about that?"

"They were wildly unhappy. The grandson, the current clan chief, sued to get the property back, but he lost."

"Huh." Jeff looked around our room. "I think I'd have found a way to keep it."

Pete and Val completed their list, and they, Jeff, and I headed out to the Co-op in Forres. We found parking on a side street - the Co-op was on the High Street, nearly in the center of town - and entered the store. Pete handed me a list of non-perishables, and Jeff and I wandered the aisles, hunting the items. We turned the corner in our search for the spice aisle, and I ran headlong into someone I knew.

Adam Grant was another distant cousin whom I'd met the previous year while I'd been here on sabbatical, writing a history of the Brodie family. He was older than me, probably near 50, with a shock of graying red hair and a trimmed beard.

He greeted me joyfully. "Jamie! Mary Carr at the castle told me ye'd be here for the Gathering." He eyed Jeff. "Who's this?"

"This is my oldest brother, Jeff Brodie. Jeff, Adam Grant. He's a town councillor."

Jeff and Adam shook hands. Jeff asked, "Are you related to the Angus Grant we met at the castle?"

"Aye, he's me second cousin." Adam grinned. "You'll be meetin' lots o' Grants this week, and we're all related to you." He lifted his nearly-empty basket. "I'd better be gettin' the messages. I'll see the two of you soon."

We said goodbye to Adam and located the spices. Jeff asked, "What's getting the messages?"

"Shopping. Messages as in a grocery list. 'Get the milk, get the bread...' Get the messages."

"Is everyone in town a distant cousin?"

"No, it just seems that way. Anyone you meet named Grant or Fraser, though - they'll be related somehow, back in the mists of time."

"What about the Douglases?" Our paternal grandmother was a Douglas; my dad's oldest brother was Uncle Doug, and my middle name was Douglas.

"There aren't many around here. The Douglases were mostly down south, along the borders. There is one ruined castle here in Moray that was a Douglas stronghold from the 14th century to the 15th."

"So our great-great-grandfather Douglas wasn't from here?"

"No, he was from Inverness. Did you even _read_ my book?"

Jeff laughed, but it was a guilty laugh. "Um \- I'm still reading."

"Yeah, right."

"Seriously, I am. I even brought it with me. I'll show you."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Okay, fine. Help me find the cinnamon."

Back at the castle, we found Dad, Claudia, Kevin, and Kristen gathered around the small table in the ground-floor kitchen, drinking tea and eating shortbread. Dad pushed the package towards me. "We found it in the pantry. Dig in."

I accepted a piece and leaned against the wall, staying out of the way of Pete and Val as they unloaded groceries. "What do you all want to do first tomorrow?"

Val asked, "What time is our complementary tour of the rest of the castle?"

"In the morning, at 9:00, before the castle opens for regular tourists."

Dad said, "Okay, so we'll do that first."

Kevin said, "We want to spend some time in the town. Soak up the atmosphere and see our great-uncle's plaque."

Dad waved a shortbread cookie in the air. "Right. Have to take pictures of that for Sarge."

I said, "He has pictures of that. He took one himself." My grandfather had come with my uncle Doug to visit Brodie Castle and Forres years ago, when I was in college. A photo of the plaque honoring his brother, my dad's uncle, Woody Brodie, who'd served here in World War II, hung on his wall.

Dad grinned. "He doesn't have pictures of me with it."

I laughed. "True."

My grandfather, Ed "Sarge" Brodie, had joined the Marines out of high school and served in the Pacific theater during World War II. His older brother, Woodrow Wilson "Woody" Brodie, had gone to college first for an engineering degree, then joined the Army Air Corps as an officer. Before the U.S. had officially entered the war, he'd been sent to Scotland to assist the Royal Air Force in building radar installations along the northeast coast.

While there, he'd captured a German spy, and transported him to the air base at Forres at the request of the RAF. He'd stayed here for a few days after, and the townspeople had clutched him to their collective chests - a Brodie, come home, and a hero to boot.

When the townspeople had learned last year that I was Woody's grand-nephew, their doors had opened wide to me. I'd heard as many stories about Woody as I had the Brodie history I'd come to collect. I'd been bemused by the fuss, but Pete had found it unremarkable. He'd said, "It's a small town. Small towns love their heroes."

I supposed he was right.

Pete had taken pictures of me next to the plaque honoring Woody's heroism, which was affixed to the stone wall of the Town Hall. I'd emailed them to everyone in the family.

I said, "Okay. Castle tour, then into town."

Val said, "Pete and I want to find the Transition Town office and chat with those folks. There are several of us who want to start a chapter in Oceanside."

I glanced at Pete, who hadn't mentioned that to me; he returned a "why not?" shrug. Claudia said, "Transition Town?"

Jeff said, "It's a movement for towns to become locally resilient and self-reliant. It started here in the UK, and Val learned that Forres is a Transition Town."

Pete said, "So is Santa Monica. But Alamogordo is not."

I said, "There you go. Another project for you to tackle when we move." Pete and I had built a second home in Alamogordo, New Mexico, home of Pete's brother, Steve. We intended to move there in a couple of years.

Kristen said, "I want to have lunch in a pub."

I grinned. "That can be arranged. The Red Lion Inn is right off of High Street. Its pub grub is terrific."

Dad asked, "Jamie, what time tomorrow are you and Pete leaving for Edinburgh?"

I said, "Mid-afternoon. It's only a three-hour drive." I'd promised to buy Fiona a drink as thanks for her assistance with my latest book. I was structuring the content around the Mackenzie family. Fiona had provided me with nearly a hundred documents and introduced me to her father and uncles in Glasgow, all of whom had been delighted to discuss family history with me. I had hours of recordings to transcribe from my phone, which I hoped to finish while we were at the castle.

Val said, "Perfect. We'll come back here after lunch, and you guys can head to Edinburgh while the rest of us...rest."

Pete and Val finished unloading groceries and started figuring out how to take advantage of the multi-oven range and all the pots and pans provided. Kristen declared that she was going for a long soak in the deep bathtub next to their room. Claudia said she was ready for a nap. Dad and Jeff went to the sitting room with books, and I headed for the office and its wireless connection to begin transcribing my interviews.

By 6:00, Pete and Val had produced a dinner of roasted chicken and potatoes with a salad. I pitched in to help clean the kitchen. Once that chore was over, we scattered. I was headed to our room to finish unpacking when Pete grabbed my elbow. "How about a walk?"

"Sounds good."

We meandered around the property, taking in the landscaping, no particular goal in mind. We were well away from the castle buildings when Pete nudged at a clump of grass with his toe. "It would be tricky to run out here. Too many holes and tufts to trip you up."

"Yeah. We should stick to the driveways." I inhaled deeply. "Cut grass and clean air. Is there any better smell?"

"Only the smell of the desert after a hard rain. It's..."

He stopped as a man stepped out from the shadows between two clumps of shrub, startling me. "Brodie."

I didn't recognize him, and didn't care for his demeanor. "Who the fuck are you?"

He sneered. "Calum Gordon."

Calum Gordon was probably in his fifties, although it was hard to tell. He was about 5'9", overweight, with a cigarette hanging from his lip. He was standing with his feet planted apart, swaying drunkenly.

I said, "Am I supposed to know who you are?"

"Nae. Not yet, anyway." Gordon thought that was hilarious. His laughter dissolved into hacking coughs.

Pete and I looked at each other. We could take this guy in a fight, no question, but he didn't seem to be looking for a fight. I said, "What do you want?"

"I want you to listen to me." Gordon pointed a finger at my face. "Your precious uncle, who's got his name plastered on the town hall?"

I thought, _What??_ "What about him?"

Gordon sneered. "He was a _spy_. For the _Nazis_. I've got proof. But I'm willing to burn that proof for the proper - let's say - _incentive_."

I spluttered. "You're _blackmailing_ me?"

"Nae. Such a nasty word. Just making a business deal, aren't we?"

Pete had his cop face on. He said, "Where's the proof? Show us."

Gordon turned his unsteady gaze to Pete, and quailed a bit. "I don't have it with me, do I? I'm not stupid."

Pete shook his head. "Ah, Mr. Gordon. I think that's _exactly_ what you are."

I said, "I don't believe you for a second."

Gordon was insulted. "I've got the documents. I'll show them to ye, all right. Tomorrow."

Pete said, "We're busy tomorrow. It'll have to be Friday."

"Friday, then." Gordon pointed at his feet. "Right here in this spot. Midnight."

I said, "We'll be here." I didn't add, _With reinforcements_.

"Until then, Brodie." Gordon turned, swayed a bit, then staggered away.

We watched him go. Pete said, "Well. That was random."

" _Bizarre_. What proof could he possibly have?"

"Probably nothing. Or something forged. What's his motive? He's at least a generation younger than your uncle."

"He's a Gordon."

"So?"

"In 1645, a Gordon burned Brodie Castle. The fire destroyed all of the family papers, which not only would have helped me write my book last year, but might also have proven our descent from the Bridei kings."

"And there's _still_ a feud going? That's a hell of a grudge."

"Not only that. Gordon put a curse on the Brodie chiefs. No son born in the castle would ever become heir to the property."

Pete snorted. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"Of course not. But back then, people took such things very seriously. The Brodies and the Gordons have hated each other for centuries."

He grinned. "I bet there was a Romeo and Juliet situation somewhere along the way. A beautiful Brodie girl falls for a dashing Gordon boy..."

I laughed. "True, but totally irrelevant."

"You really think the family feud explains why this particular Gordon wants to shake you down?"

"I have no idea. When we see him next time, let's ask him."

"Uh huh. I think tomorrow, when we're in town after our castle tour, we need to ask around about Calum Gordon."

"Agreed."

Back at the castle, the rest of my family was strewn around the sitting room, various adult beverages in hand. Val was drinking something...orange? Pete snagged two cans of beer from the fridge for us, and we settled in with the others. Dad asked, "How was your walk?"

I said, "Terrific, until we ran into a guy who's trying to blackmail us. Val, what the hell are you drinking?"

Val smirked at me. Everyone else responded with variations on, " _BLACKMAIL?? WHAT??_ "

I told the story of meeting Gordon and our conversation with him. "Dad? Is there any possibility that what he said is true?"

Dad was shaking his head firmly. "Absolutely _not_. Uncle Woody would have sacrificed one of his own eyes before helping the Nazis. When Shana married Stefan, he had a few things to say about it."

My Uncle Doug, Dad's oldest brother, had three daughters who had been born and mostly raised in Germany while Doug was stationed there with the Marines. Shana, the oldest, had stayed behind when the rest of the family had moved back to the States, and had eventually married Stefan, a terrific German guy.

Jeff asked, "Is there any way he could have been coerced into it?"

Dad said, "I don't see how."

Kristen said, "I've only heard bits and pieces of Woody's story. How did he become a hero to Forres?"

Dad waved an empty can. "I'll need another round for this."

I stood to refresh his supply. Val said, "Hey, while you're at the fridge, can you bring me another one of those orange drinks? Iron something."

"Blech! You're drinking _Irn Bru?_ What the hell are you mixing it with?"

"Vodka." Val smacked her lips. "Yum."

"Oh my _God_..."

Kevin said, "Um, hello? Blackmail story?"

"Okay, okay." I hustled to the fridge.

Dad accepted his fresh beer with thanks. "Here's the story. Woody was born in 1918, six years older than Sarge. He graduated from college in 1940 with a degree in electrical engineering. It wasn't obvious then that we'd be joining the Allies, but Woody joined the Army Air Corps anyway. They recruited him for his degree, mostly."

Pete said, "Not the Marines?"

"No. I think my grandfather had a few words to say about _that_ , but it was the right thing for Woody. He was a brilliant man. He'd have been wasted in the trenches."

My dad's grandfather - Woody's father - had been the first Brodie to join the Marines, and had served in World War I. Dad said, "Anyway. Before long, the Army sent Woody over here to Scotland. They knew he had fairly recent Scottish roots. The Royal Air Force was building a ring of radar stations along the coast, and Woody ended up at Dunnet Head Radar Station. You've been there, right, Jamie?"

"Yep." Dunnet Head, in spite of the claims of John O'Groats, was the northernmost point of the Scottish mainland. I'd seen the empty concrete bunkers that had held the radar installation.

Dad continued. "One evening, Woody was out walking along the cliffs at the coast, and he spotted a guy trying to climb the cliff. Something told him to keep quiet. He had binoculars with him, so he trained them on this guy, and saw that he was wearing a German uniform. Woody backed up a bit from the cliff so the German wouldn't see him, and drew his sidearm. When the guy topped the cliff, Woody captured him and marched him at gunpoint to the radar station."

Val whistled and clapped. "Way to go, Uncle Woody!"

Val was apparently taking advantage of her brief break from motherhood to tie one on. I raised an eyebrow at Jeff; he rolled his eyes.

Dad grinned. "Exactly. The radar station wasn't equipped to hold a prisoner there. The chief called his superiors and they decided to move the German to a small, out of the way RAF field - in particular, the one here in Forres. There were closer fields, but the RAF didn't want the spy to see any installations that were larger or closer to the coast. They sent Woody and one of the RAF officers to escort the German to the RAF station at Forres. They flew down there that night and locked the guy up in the local jail until the proper authorities could come and take custody of him."

Pete asked, "So how did Woody become such a local hero?"

Dad sipped his beer. "He was owed a few days off, so he decided to spend them in Forres. He knew about Brodie Castle - his grandfather, the Alexander Brodie that emigrated to America, had told the kids stories about it - and Woody thought he might take a look at it. By the time he woke up the next morning, everyone in town knew that he was there because he'd brought in a German spy. Someone at the police station had spread the word, of course. By morning the spy was gone, on the way to someplace else to be questioned."

I asked, "Did he meet the Brodie Castle Brodies?"

"Yes. But not right off. He was eating breakfast in the hotel when the town leaders appeared, invited him to the town hall the next day, where they presented him with the key to the town, several bottles of whiskey, a kilt, I don't know what else. Woody hung out for a couple of days, taking walks and drinking with the townspeople in the pubs. At one point there was a meeting arranged for Woody with the clan chief at the time, Ian, the 24th Brodie chief."

I said, "He's the one who cultivated daffodils."

Everyone said, "Ah." We were too late in the year to see them bloom, but the castle grounds were planted with thousands of daffodils, and the library was full of books on daffodil horticulture. Ian, the 24th chief, was the daffodil enthusiast.

Dad said, "Right. He also met Ian's son, who was briefly home from the war."

I said, "Ninian. The one who ended up selling this place to the National Trust."

Val grumbled. "Shouldn't a' done that."

Kristen snickered. "You're drunk, Mrs. Brodie."

Val blew her a raspberry, which made all of us laugh.

Dad said, "In a few days, Woody went back to Dunnet Head. He didn't return to Forres until the war was over, when he stopped by the town briefly before shipping back to the States. He was discharged from the Air Corps, moved back to Beaufort, married my Aunt Jean, began teaching math at the high school, went for a master's degree in education, and eventually became principal. A few years after the war, he and Jean traveled back here when the town dedicated that plaque to him. They proclaimed it to be 'Woodrow Brodie Day.' Ninian was clan chief by then, and he came to say a few words."

Claudia said, "It doesn't sound like there's any room in there for spying."

Dad was vehement. " _Hell_ , no. This Gordon guy can't have any genuine documentation. He's hoping that we're dumb enough that he can make a quick buck."

Jeff snorted. "Too bad for him, then."

Kevin asked, "When are you meeting with this Gordon clown again?"

"Friday night at midnight."

"I'm coming with you."

Pete said, "I'd expect no less."

We said good night and headed to our respective rooms. I put on my pajamas, dug my bathrobe out of my suitcase, and headed for the bathroom, where Jeff was already brushing his teeth. I said, "We'll have to get used to sharing a bathroom with more than one person again."

He grunted and spit. "It's all yours."

Back in our bedroom I saw that Pete was eschewing pajamas. I said, "If we have to run into the hall in the middle of the night, you'll be sorry you're naked."

He frowned, but realized the logic behind my statement. "Yeah, okay. Bottoms only, though."

I hung my robe on the hook behind the bedroom door. "Are you and Val gonna cook a big breakfast?"

"That's the plan. Although if Val's hung over, it might be just me. Our tour of the castle is at 9:00, right?"

"Yep." I crawled into bed and spotted a book on Pete's nightstand. "What are you reading?"

"Ohhhh..." He smirked and showed me the cover. It displayed two bare-chested men, both wearing kilts. "We're back in the sexy Highlands...I thought we might find this appropriate."

I laughed, shaking my head, and reached for the book. " _A Laird for the Laird_. Nice."

"Their kilts probably aren't right."

I pointed to the man on the left. "Well, this one's Royal Stewart. I'm not sure about the other one. Gunn, maybe? What are the guys' names?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't started reading."

I flipped to the first couple of pages. "Hey, they got it right. One guy is a Stewart and one is a Davidson, and I think the Davidsons belong to Clan Gunn."

Pete climbed into bed beside me. "How do you remember all this clan stuff?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Years of reading about it, I guess. Is this historical fiction or modern day?"

"I don't _know_. I haven't started _reading_."

I laughed. "Yeah, okay, you said that." I flipped through a few pages. "I hope it's historical. That would be more interesting."

I handed the book back to him. He took it and tossed it onto the bedside table while cracking an enormous yawn. "Think I'll start it tomorrow night. I'm bushed."

I slid under the covers and turned out my bedside lamp. "Won't argue with that."

### Thursday

The next morning it took a few minutes to negotiate bathroom time between Jeff, Val, Pete and me. Val was squinting and scowling from a hangover, but upright. She allowed us three males to take our morning leaks, then closed the bathroom door in our faces.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged. Pete went next, as he was supposed to help cook breakfast. I could already smell coffee. Someone was up - maybe my dad, who'd never broken the boot camp habit of waking by 5:30 in the morning. I decided to see if maybe, by chance, his and Claudia's shower was free. I pulled on my bathrobe, filled my pockets with toiletries and a clean pair of briefs, and went downstairs.

Dad and Claudia were indeed up and dressed. Dad was carefully placing bacon in a frying pan; Claudia was sitting at the table, sipping coffee. She saluted me with her cup. "Good morning!"

"Back atcha. I was hoping to cadge some shower time from you."

Dad said, "Sure. Make yourself at home."

"Awesome. Thanks." I turned to go back to the first floor just as Val appeared, pulling her still-damp hair into a ponytail. She poked me in the shoulder. "You're _cheating_."

I poked her back. "I'm _resourceful_."

I trotted up the stairs to the sound of Dad and Claudia's laughter.

Once showered, I went back to our bedroom to dress. Pete was pulling on a t-shirt; he stared at me. "You cheated."

I tapped the side of my head. "Boy genius."

"Yeah, right." He threw his dirty briefs at me, which I dodged. "I smell bacon."

"Dad's started frying. Val's down there too. You're late."

"Argh!" He dragged a hoodie over his head and hustled out of the room.

I dressed in a leisurely fashion and caught Jeff as he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. He stopped at the sight of me. "You're supposed to be last."

"Yeah, well, the last shall be first."

He yanked his towel off and tried to snap me with it; I dodged that too, stuck my tongue out at him, and ran downstairs.

Kevin and Kristen were setting the long table in the dining room when I arrived. Val was scrambling eggs; Pete was making towers out of toast. I rummaged for jam, marmalade, butter, salt and pepper. Jeff appeared, fully clothed; Claudia carried platters of eggs and bacon to the table, and we tucked into our fry-up with enthusiasm.

By 8:55 we had restored the kitchen to its sparkling clean state, made our beds, and brushed our teeth. We formed up and walked around to the front of the castle, where the docent was waiting for us.

Her eyes widened a bit at the sight of us, but she didn't react otherwise. "Good morning! I'm Mary Carr. I hope you found the accommodations to your liking?"

Dad said, "Yes, thank you. They're fantastic."

Mary smiled. "And do I understand correctly, that you're all Brodies?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dad introduced the rest of us.

"Well, welcome to your ancestral home! Are you descended from the Brodies of Brodie?"

I said, "Yes, ma'am. From James, the 21st clan chief. His youngest grandson, George, is our ancestor."

"Ah. Excellent." She turned and unlocked the door to the castle. "Come with me."

We stopped in the entry hall, and Mary turned to us. "Have any of you visited before?"

I said, "Pete and I have. None of the others."

"Well, the rest of you are in for a treat." She beamed. "The Brodie family has long been renowned for its style and artistic taste. The art collection is of national importance, and the castle furnishings were built by some of the top makers of fine furniture of the day."

_Style and artistic taste_. Pete was biting back a grin. I edged up behind Kristen and whispered in her ear. "The lady is expecting style. You'd better move to the front of the pack."

She shushed me. Mary the docent was leading us into the first room.

The library.

I'd spent several hours in here last summer, both doing research and marveling at the collection. Mary waxed enthusiastic about the books and the art on the walls, and spoke of Ian, the 24th clan chief, who'd developed the passion for daffodils. As she wound down her spiel, Kristen raised her hand.

Mary said, "Yes?"

Kristen said, "I'm a librarian, so I'm curious - how are the books arranged? Is there some sort of classification system?"

"Er." Mary was nonplussed. "I'm afraid I don't know."

I snickered. I knew she'd say that. I'd asked the same question the first time I'd ever visited the castle, about fifteen years ago, with Ethan Williams, my boyfriend through college and grad school. I'd studied the problem myself, last summer, and determined that the arrangement didn't make any sense that I could discern.

Kristen said, "Hm."

Mary cleared her throat and gave Kristen a look that bordered on baleful. "Let's move on, shall we?"

She led us up the stairs and into the first drawing room, where she pointed out several family portraits, stopping at a large painting of a family. "And here is your ancestor, James, the 21st Brodie of Brodie, with his wife and children. His oldest son didn't live long enough to become chief, so when James died, the title passed to his grandson, William."

I said, "Who was the older brother of George, our direct ancestor."

"Yes." Mary nodded to me. "You know quite a bit about your family history."

"Yes, ma'am. I wrote a book about it last year."

Mary's eyes widened. "Oh! You're Jeremy Brodie? I thought..."

"Yes, ma'am. I go by Jamie as a nickname."

"Oh my. Well, your book is quite the sensation around here, you know."

Pete snickered. I was skeptical. "Um - thank you."

Mary said, "Then you must know the tragic story of James's wife, Lady Margaret Duff."

"Yes, ma'am." I pointed to the picture. "In 1786, Lady Margaret was sitting by the fire in the room upstairs from this one. Everyone else had gone to bed. She fell asleep, and an ember from the fireplace caught her gown on fire. She burned to death before anyone could help her."

My entire family sucked in a collective breath. Claudia said, "How _awful_. How old was she?"

"Around 40, I think? James lived on for many years but never remarried."

Val, the only mom in our group, asked, "How small were her children?"

"The older kids were teenagers. The two youngest girls were nine, ten, somewhere around there?"

Kristen asked, "Does she haunt the castle? I would."

Mary clucked quietly and, to my mind, somewhat disapprovingly. "No. There is a castle ghost story, but it involves the death of the 23rd laird, Hugh, in 1889. He was abroad in Switzerland and had locked his office before he left, instructing the staff that no one was to enter. One night the staff heard thumping and moaning from the office, and a sound like rustling of papers. The next day they learned that the laird had died that night. Some believe that his ghost returned to his office, unhappy because of unfinished business."

Val was looking around at the family photos. "These Brodies don't look anything like you all."

It was true. The Brodie chiefs were all thin-faced and dark-haired with prominently hooked noses. Dad said, "Sarge claims there was a Viking in the woodpile. I don't know about that, but I do know that my great-grandfather, the Brodie who came to the States, married a girl who'd been born on Lewis. There was enormous Scandinavian influence on the Western Isles. And his mother, my great-great-grandmother Brodie, was born in Wick." A town on the northeastern coast, not far from Dunnet Head, which had belonged to Norway for centuries.

Mary looked faintly disapproving of the thought of Vikings. Pete leaned over to me and whispered, "I'm glad that you didn't inherit the Brodie nose."

As we climbed to higher floors, Mary chattered on and on about the paintings and antiques. I noticed that Jeff was growing increasingly antsy. At one point when Claudia was asking Mary about some particular doodad, Jeff leaned in to me. "I don't get it."

"What?"

"The last chief who lived here, who sold the castle...he sold it because he couldn't afford to keep it up, right?"

"Right."

"He could have sold off just one floor of this stuff and made enough to keep it going for years."

"I know. Apparently he didn't want any of the interior to be broken up in any way. His stuff was more important to him than holding on to the castle as a home."

Jeff snorted. "Bad decision."

"Yeah, his grandson thought so, too. The current clan chief. But...these Brodies have a long history of making bad financial decisions. They've lost a ton of the land they used to own, and lost the castle itself once. One of the lairds made a good marriage and got it back."

"Sounds like the sensible Brodies were all younger sons."

I grinned. "That's right. And don't you forget it."

He spluttered. "I wasn't talking about _now_."

Mary cleared her throat again. "Ahem. Shall we move on?"

An hour later we emerged into the daylight, blinking against the sun filtered through high clouds. Val said, " _Wow_."

I said, "Our last ancestor to live in the castle, George, was born in 1802. Most of the decorative furnishings were probably added after that. The frou-frou isn't our fault."

Kristen said, "It's a gorgeous museum. But it's hard to imagine families with kids living there."

Jeff said, "Lucky for us, they did."

We all laughed. Dad said, "Okay, who's up for a distillery tour?"

The rest of the family planned to tour the Dallas Dhu and Benromach distilleries, then join Pete and me in town for lunch. Once the others were on their way, Pete and I drove into Forres with the intention of learning what we could about Calum Gordon.

We parked in the center of town and walked a couple of blocks to the post office, where the proprietor was a closer cousin than Adam Grant - Catherine Russell, who was descended from an older sister of our ancestor, George. I'd spent hours with Catherine last summer, discussing family history.

As with many post offices in villages in the UK, this one was part of a Spar store. Pete snagged a couple of Cokes from the cooler for us, while I went to see if Catherine was behind the counter.

She was. She gasped in surprise to see me, then came around the counter to give me a firm hug. "Jamie! I'd heard you'd be in town, but I wasn't sure when you'd arrive."

"We got in yesterday afternoon. How are you?"

"Och, I'm well." She grinned at Pete as he approached. "And there's himself. Where's the rest of your family?"

"Visiting Dallas Dhu. I'll bring them by to introduce them later. Listen, Catherine, I need some information about a guy named Calum Gordon."

Her expression immediately clouded. "That eejit. What d'you want with _him?_ "

"Is there someplace we can talk?"

"Aye." Catherine called to a young woman who was stocking shelves. "Lucy, I'll be in the back for a wee bit."

"Aye." Lucy moved to the register.

Catherine led us behind the counter and into a tiny room that served as an office. She produced one chair besides the one at the desk, and nodded at a stack of cases of soup. "One of ye can sit there."

I perched on the soup. Catherine said, "What's this about Calum Gordon?"

I told her what had happened the night before. She was incensed. "That piece of _rubbish_. You doona believe him, do you?"

"Of course not. But we wanted to gather more dirt on him before we saw him again."

"He's the town drunk. Nasty jakey. Lives in a caravan out on the edge of Elder George Farm. Not far from your castle."

A caravan was what we'd call a trailer. Pete grimaced. I said, "Not far enough, anyway. How does he live?"

"Steals, mostly. Out of people's gardens. We have to run him out from here about once a week. He spends more time in jail than out."

"What does he have against Brodies? Surely not the old feud."

"Nae." Catherine curled her lip. "Somewhere he's overheard talk of you, and he's cooked up this scheme to make a bit o' money. He's so addled on the drink, he probably thinks it's a grand plan."

"Everyone in the town knows him?"

"Aye. He's the most despised man in this part of Moray. Most of the folks around have had some sort o' go with him." She crossed her arms firmly. "You should tell the polis." Polis was how the Scots referred to their police.

I asked, "Is there a particular officer I should speak to?"

"Aye." She picked up her phone and sent a text. We waited for only a moment, and her phone beeped with a response. "Roddy Simpson. He'll be expecting you at the station."

"Roddy Simpson. Awesome. Thanks, Catherine."

She waved that off. "Any trouble for Calum Gordon is a public service. I'll see you Saturday night at the gathering."

We left the post office and struck out on foot, walking the length of High Street. High Street became Victoria Road, and led us away from the center of town. We passed Grant Park and the East Lodge, the house we'd rented last summer. Another 200 yards on was the local headquarters of Police Scotland.

The station was housed in a two-story stone building set in a green expanse of lawn. We walked up the ramp to the door. PC - Police Constable - Roddy Simpson was waiting for us in the entryway. He was young, probably a few years younger than me, and looked sharp in his neatly pressed uniform. He shook hands with us as we introduced ourselves. "Come to the back wi' me."

We followed Roddy down a hallway, past the stair to the second floor, to a small warren of cubicles. A couple of other constables were at computers, laboriously typing reports. Pete grinned in recognition, no doubt remembering his days of typing reports for LAPD. Back when he and Kevin had been partners.

Roddy sat behind a desk and waved us to chairs. "I hear Calum Gordon has made some trouble?"

I said, "That's right." I told the constable about our encounter the previous night.

Roddy shook his head. "Daft, Calum is. His brain's nearly gone from the drink. D'ye think there's any truth to what he's saying?"

I said, "No. I figure he has some documents he forged himself, and he believes we're stupid enough to fall for it."

Roddy eyed us. "Ye doona look stupid to me. You..." He nodded to Pete. "You look like a polis."

"Ten years on the job, about ten years ago."

"I knew it. Anyway. I doona believe Calum to be dangerous, but he might carry a knife. I think I'll park up the drive a wee bit tomorrow night, and see what's what wi' him."

I said, "Catherine described him as a waste of space."

"Aye, that he is. No one in the town has use for him, even his own relatives." Roddy shook his head. "Someone's likely to stumble across his body after he's been dead for days, out in that falling-down caravan of his, once the drink does him in."

I had to agree. We thanked Roddy and said goodbye, and walked back into town. We were scheduled to meet the rest of the family at Maclean's Bakery for Scotch pies and other delights, but we were a bit early. As we passed the local Church of Scotland, St. Leonard's, I said to Pete, "Let's stop in here a minute."

He frowned, gazing up at the facade of the church. "Is it Catholic?"

"No, doofus, Church of Scotland is Presbyterian. We passed the Catholics a couple of blocks back. Come on. I know the minister."

We pushed open the heavy front door of the church and turned to the left, toward the wing that housed the church offices. I stuck my head in through the door to greet the receptionist. "Hey, Mrs. Sutherland."

The plump gray-haired lady looked over her reading glasses at me and beamed. "Jamie Brodie! We heard you'd be in town."

"Yes, ma'am. Is the minister in?"

"Ach, no, he's away home for a meal. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Probably. What do you know about Calum Gordon?"

Mrs. Sutherland's face twisted into a grimace. "Ah, that scoundrel." She lowered her voice, even though I thought we were the only people in the building. "Would that he'd get on with drinkin' himself to death and leave us all in peace."

I said, "So he's caused trouble for you?"

"Aye. Not so much me as my brothers. They were in school together as young lads." She shook her head regretfully. "Tortured the others, did Calum. A right bully." She gave me a sideways look. "How did ye come across him, then?"

I gave her a brief synopsis of our encounter with Gordon. When I said "spy," she gasped. " _No_. Your uncle was no more spy than I am. Ye'll not pay that one a penny, will you?"

"Of course not. Don't worry about _that_. We just wanted to collect more information before we saw him again. And we're taking the police with us next time."

She relaxed. "That's all right, then. Maybe the polis will lock him away for a good long time."

I said, "Yes, ma'am. That's the plan."

Mrs. Sutherland smiled up at us. "You'll be attendin' the clan gathering, then?"

I grinned. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

"You'll likely see the minister there." She straightened and pressed her hand over her heart. "We wouldna likely have the Church of Scotland without the Brodies, you know."

I said, "Yes, ma'am. As one historian wrote, 'The Brodies' historical importance rests on vindicating the cause of the Covenant.' Although I can't say I agree with the tactics of ol' Alexander the Good."

Mrs. Sutherland eyed me, amusement in her expression. "Aye, perhaps. Devoted to the cause, he was."

I said, "Yes, ma'am. And 'an intemperate bigot,' he was, as well. Quoting the same source."

"Hm. Be that as it may." She gave me a knowing grin. "Next time you see Calum Gordon, you give him a good thump from me."

I grinned back. "Yes, ma'am."

We hustled down the street, past the Town Hall where my great-uncle's plaque gleamed in the sun, and into Maclean's. My family was already in line, ordering. The girl behind the counter was familiar to me, although I couldn't remember her name, and she waved. Once we had our bags full of meat pies and mouthwatering desserts, we set off in a clump for Grant Park. Once there, we spread out on the grass, opened our sacks of goodies, and dug in. Between mouthfuls of Scotch pie, Pete and I told the others what we'd learned about Calum Gordon.

Kevin was pleased to hear that we'd be accompanied by the cops at our rendezvous tomorrow night. "Your postmistress is right. He could easily have a knife. Not that we couldn't take it away from him, but that's a lot easier to do with a billy club."

I said, "Yeah. After talking to everyone this morning, I'm feeling better about the whole thing."

Ha ha.

After lunch, Val, Kristen and Claudia stayed in town to explore (Val), shop (Kristen), and visit the library's genealogical section (Claudia). We left one car with them, and Dad, Kevin, Jeff, Pete and I squeezed into the other to return to the castle.

Dad, Jeff and Kevin retired to the sitting room to sample their whiskey purchases. Pete and I packed an overnight bag and drove toward Inverness, to pick up the A9 for the three-hour trip to Edinburgh.

As we headed into the Cairngorms the day grew overcast, with occasional sprinkles. I glanced at Pete in the passenger seat and asked, "How do you think it'll go down tomorrow night with this Gordon character?"

"One of several things will happen." Pete counted on his fingers. "One, he won't show up, because he was too plastered to remember what he did last night."

I said, "I dunno. He seemed pretty determined."

"True. Two, he'll show up and hand us some papers. We'll demand to have them authenticated, and he'll refuse. Then our cop friend - what's his name?"

"Roddy Simpson."

"Right. Roddy will step out of the darkness and arrest Gordon, and our adventure will be over."

"You said several things. That's only two."

"Oh. Well, he could also come armed with a knife, as Roddy suggested. In which case, Kevin and I will disarm him and beat the shit out of him."

"Roddy might stop you."

"He might. Or he might give us a few seconds, then step in."

I said, "We don't want to get Kevin in trouble for police brutality."

"Nah. I seriously doubt that Gordon will bring a knife. He wants money. He saw us; he knows we're younger, fitter, and faster than he is. He won't want to piss us off. Whatever happens, ol' Calum is getting arrested tomorrow night, and for something far more serious than public drunkenness."

We stopped for petrol at a station north of Perth, then continued our journey. We located our hotel car park and checked in. Both Pete and I were delighted to see that our en-suite facilities had a shower big enough for the two of us. I asked, "Did you bring that book about the lairds with you?"

He unzipped his bag and extracted the book, waving it at me with a grin. "Hell, yeah."

But that would have to wait. We changed into slightly dressier duds and went downstairs, onto the street, and two doors down to our favorite Edinburgh pub.

Fiona was already there, accompanied by her boyfriend, Finn Murray, another Glaswegian living in Edinburgh, whom we'd met last summer. Finn was a lecturer in art history at the University, a calm, agreeable guy with blond hair and blue eyes. Quite the contrast to purple-haired, easily excitable Fiona. We greeted each other enthusiastically and ordered pints and bowls of vegetable soup then found a table.

"So." Fiona arranged herself at the table. "How is Brodie Castle as a holiday let?"

Pete said, "Not enough bathrooms. But the kitchen is fantastic."

Finn laughed. "One WC per house. The bane of old houses in the UK."

I said, "No kidding. There are four bathrooms, but only one shower. And one of the bathrooms is beside the entryway."

Fiona said, "Also typical. Walk into almost any house in Scotland, you'll find a cludgie right near the front door. It can be convenient at times."

Pete chuckled. "I guess so."

Finn said, "That castle is full of incredible artwork. I wish the old man would have considered donating it to the National Gallery."

We all agreed on that. Our food arrived, and we spent a few moments slurping soup and tearing into the accompanying bread. When Fiona came up for air she said, "I suppose you haven't found any time to write yet."

"No. What I plan to do this week is transcribe all the interviews I did with your family. That'll take all week. It's not as if I can concentrate on doing any serious writing with seven other people lurking around. Always coming into the room to use the wireless. Always offering me alcoholic beverages." I took a swig from my pint.

Finn and Fiona laughed. She said, "It sounds like a party."

Pete said, "It is, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well..." I told Finn and Fiona about our once and future encounters with Calum Gordon.

Fiona was incensed. "What a _ratbag_. Says he has documents, does he?"

"That's what he says."

"We'll just see about that. I don't think I've ever told you - I'm rather an expert on World War I and II documents. I'll be able to tell in a flash if those are forged. Even if they're decent forgeries. Which they're likely not."

Finn frowned. "I don't know that you should go mucking about with a drunken sod who might have a knife."

"Well, I won't go _with_ them tomorrow night, will I?" But Fiona was giving me a sideways look.

I said, "You two should join us at the castle for a few days. At least the weekend. Fiona, you could examine the documents, assuming the old guy has them, and both of you could come to the clan gathering. You'd be more than welcome. Just wear your kilts and the Brodies will embrace you."

Clan Mackenzie and Clan Brodie were old allies, the friendship going back even further in history than the enmity between Brodies and Gordons. And the name Murray had originated from Moray, which was pronounced the same.

Finn and Fiona looked at each other. Finn said, "I've got nothing on the schedule for tomorrow."

Fiona said, "I've crossed off my list for the week. I could take a day off. But what about the bathrooms?"

Pete laughed. I said, "The first floor bathroom isn't being used. It's all yours."

Fiona applauded in delight. "Spot on! I could use a weekend in the country, right, Finn?"

Finn smiled indulgently. "Aye. You can always use a weekend in the country."

Another pint later, we ordered a round of chips. A couple more pints later, we weaved our way out of the pub, made arrangements to meet in our hotel lobby tomorrow morning at 9:00, and staggered in separate directions. Finn and Fiona lived in a nearby mid-terraced townhouse, which they'd chosen specifically because it was within walking distance of this pub.

I could think of worse reasons for picking a house.

Back in our room we immediately took advantage of the shower then crawled into bed. I was ready for sleep, but Pete had developed a second wind, and picked up the romance book from his side table. "I'm gonna read for a while. Will it bother you?"

"I doubt it." And it didn't. I was asleep in seconds. 

### Friday

I was awakened by my phone. While I was groggily deciding whether or not to answer it, it stopped ringing.

Good. I closed my eyes, and the phone started ringing again.

_Dammit_. I reached out to the bedside table, and grappled for the phone. It slipped from my grasp and landed on the carpeted floor, face up, just as it stopped ringing.

I was trying to decide whether or not to reach for it, when it rang again.

With the screen face up, I could see who was calling.

Kevin.

A bolt of fear shot through me. My initial, gut reaction was always the same in these sorts of circumstances.

_Dad_.

This time, I managed to answer on the third ring. " _What?_ "

He dispensed with any pleasantries as well. "When are you coming back?"

"Um - we're leaving at 9:00. Fiona and her boyfriend are coming with us."

"So you'll be here about noon."

"Probably. Why?"

"Why is Fiona coming?"

"Because she's an expert in World War II documents, as it turns out. WHY?"

Kevin's tone was grim. "A dead body was found on the grounds early this morning."

I exploded. "Son of a fucking _bitch!_ I can't even take _vacation_ without the bodies following me!"

" _You?_ How do you think I feel? My fucking _work_ is following me on vacation. Anyway, it's not for sure that it's a murder yet."

"Who is it?"

"Well...confirming the identity might take a while. But it looks like it might be your boy Calum Gordon."

That shocked me to silence. Kevin continued. "The body was burned, but the hands and feet were intact. They'll be able to get fingerprint results soon."

"Could it have been an accident?"

"Too early to tell. But the local cops aren't letting us leave the castle, and they've called in detectives from \- somewhere. Glasgow, I think."

"There aren't any homicide detectives closer to Forres than _Glasgow?_ They must have them in Aberdeen."

Kevin sighed. "I don't know. This nationalized police system is weird. Anyway. I didn't want you to walk in unawares."

"Yeah, I appreciate that." The full import of Kevin's words struck me. "Wait a minute. They're not letting you leave? Are you all _suspects?_ "

He said drily, "Well, the cops know that we had a beef with Gordon, 'cause you told them so yesterday. And since it was during the night, we were all asleep, so none of us have an official alibi. Constable Simpson has assured us that it's just procedure, but I know that's BS."

"Yeah, I know." I tried to think of what else I needed to ask, and couldn't think of anything. "Okay. We'll see you about noon."

We said goodbye, and I turned to Pete, who'd blissfully slept through the entire conversation. I tapped him on the shoulder. When he didn't move, I punched him lightly. "Hey. Wake up."

He grunted but didn't move. I punched him again. "C'mon, Pete. Wakey, wakey. Bad news."

He rolled over and regarded me through slitted eyes. "Huh?"

"Dead body found on the castle grounds. We're driving back into a police investigation."

That woke him up. " _What??_ "

I repeated the conversation I'd had with Kevin. Pete shook his head hard, like a dog. " _What??_ "

"You heard me. Come on." I swung my legs over and got out of bed. "We've gotta get breakfast and be ready to go at 9:00."

We ordered full Scottish breakfasts at the hotel restaurant, then went back to our room to brush our teeth and pack. At 9:00 we were checked out and standing on the sidewalk, waiting for Fiona and Finn.

They appeared momentarily. Fiona was practically bouncing on her toes. "A weekend at a castle! I've never done this before."

Pete said, "Seriously? I'd think people here would spend weekends at castles all the time."

She shrugged. "Nae. Always something else to do, isn't there?"

I said, "It's like us, almost never going to the beach. Anyway - we have something to tell you about." I gave them our unhappy news.

Fiona's mouth formed an O. Finn whistled softly. "Burned? And found on the castle grounds? How does _that_ happen?"

Pete said, "Good question."

Our drive back to Forres took a bit longer than expected; traffic was heavier than usual. Probably people making early weekend escapes to the Cairngorms and Highlands. And, thanks to the inability of any UK citizen to drive for more than an hour or two without sustenance, we had to stop once to allow Finn and Fiona to refresh themselves with tea and cake.

We parked behind the castle and went through the door into the main kitchen. I called, "We're here."

Constable Simpson appeared in the hallway, from the door leading into the dining room. "In here."

My entire family was arrayed around the table. Seated at one end were two men in rumpled suits. One was young, skinny, and redheaded, with acne scars; the other was older, dark-haired, with a high forehead and a prominent hooked nose.

He looked more like a Brodie than we did.

The dark-haired one said, "Ah. Good. I won't have to repeat myself."

The redhead was holding a pad and pen, poised to write. "Names, please."

Pete and I gave our names. The dark-haired cop fixed his gaze on Fiona and Finn. "And who might you be?"

Fiona answered. "Fiona Mackenzie and Finn Murray. Friends of the family."

The redhead smirked. I didn't know why. The dark-haired cop said, "I'm Detective Inspector James Graham, and he's Detective Sergeant Brendan Kennedy. First, we'll need your names, dates of birth, addresses, places of employment, relationship to each other." He nodded at Claudia. "We'll begin with you, miss."

Claudia looked amused at the "miss" designation, but she dutifully repeated her vital information. We went around the table; Kevin would be last. I was eagerly anticipating the detectives' reaction to his place of employment.

They didn't disappoint. Kevin intoned, "Kevin Brodie. 24 March 1979. 1275 South Beverly Glen Boulevard, Los Angeles, California. Place of employment, Los Angeles Police Department. I'm a homicide detective."

Kennedy's face turned almost as red as his hair. Graham was a cooler customer; he raised an eyebrow. "You don't say."

Kevin raised an eyebrow right back. "I do say." His tone was mild, but I recognized his expression. _Don't fuck with us, buddy_.

Apparently Graham recognized it, too. "Aye, then." He stood. "Ms. Mackenzie, Mr. Murray, you're free to go. We'll chat with each of the rest of you one at a time, in the kitchen. Constable Simpson, if you'd run background checks for us?"

"Aye." Roddy Simpson gave me a look - I wasn't sure what it meant - and left the room.

Graham said, "Mr. David Brodie. We'll begin with you, then. D.S. Kennedy will stay here with the rest of ye."

Kennedy didn't look happy at that, but he didn't argue. Fiona said, "Is there Wi-Fi upstairs?"

I said, "Yeah. First floor, office."

"That's where we'll be." Fiona and Finn disappeared; I heard their footsteps on the stairs.

Dad followed Graham out the door; a minute later we heard their voices, too low and indistinct to hear what they were saying.

Kevin sat back, crossed his arms, and fixed his gaze on Kennedy. Kennedy tried not to squirm and didn't succeed.

Kristen was smirking. Val said to me. "How was Edinburgh?"

"Terrific." Was Kennedy going to let us talk? "Turns out Fiona has many talents."

"She's an archivist. Of course she does."

I wanted to keep the conversation going to keep Kennedy off balance. I didn't know why, but I'd taken an instant, active dislike to him. "Do we have anyone at UCLA who has those same skills?"

"Umm..." Kristen thought. "No one immediately comes to mind. You're the historian; could you recognize fakes?"

"Not from World War II. Conrad might know something about it." Conrad Huffstetler was the director of our library's Special Collections department.

Kennedy was scowling, but he didn't say anything. Pete asked, "Did you all get breakfast?"

Val said, "Yep. Before these guys showed up. Dave made blueberry pancakes."

Jeff, other than giving his name and other information had remained silent until now. He said, his tone accusing, "We _intended_ to go hiking this afternoon."

I said, "Like this is _my_ fault? We'll still get to hike. Just not today."

Kennedy had apparently had enough. "Haud yer wheesht, all of ye." He glanced uneasily at Kevin, who hadn't moved. I chuckled to myself; I knew Kevin could hold that position and gaze for hours.

Pete was the next to last to be called; they didn't keep him long. I was last. When I went into the kitchen, D.I. Graham had loosened his tie and looked tired. And disgusted.

I said, "Can I get a water from the fridge?"

He waved his hand, indicating yes. I retrieved a bottle and sat across from him. "Fire away."

His lip twitched up in a half-smile, in spite of himself. "Your detective brother and your ex-cop partner tell me that you're also familiar with investigative procedure."

"Yes, sir. I wish I wasn't."

He sighed. "Aye. Most days, I feel the same. Let's have the story of your encounter with Calum Gordon."

I related what had transpired between us. He nodded. "You were plannin' to meet him tonight?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sure Constable Simpson told you, he was going to be there as well. We intended to get the documents from him. My friend Fiona, who's upstairs, is an archivist at University of Edinburgh. She's an expert on World War II documents. She'd be able to debunk them."

"How far would your family go to protect your great-uncle's reputation?"

I stared at him. "Only far enough to prove these documents were fake."

"Did ye ever meet your great-uncle?"

"Yes, sir, when I was a little kid."

"Who else besides Constable Simpson did you tell about Calum Gordon's threats?"

Uh oh. I said, "Um - Catherine Russell, at the post office, and Mrs. Sutherland at St. Leonard's church."

"How well do you know them?"

"I know Catherine well. Mrs. Sutherland, not so much."

"Are either of them gossips?"

"I don't know." Although I suspected that Mrs. Sutherland might spread a tale or two if given the opportunity. But I wasn't about to throw her under the bus. If she had that reputation, the inspector would learn that soon enough.

"Did ye see Calum Gordon during your visit here last summer?"

"No, sir."

"Any idea why he'd target you?"

I sighed. "Apparently the word around town is that I have some money."

"Do you, then?"

"Yes, sir." I gave him a brief synopsis of our inheritance story.

"What did your pals in town tell you about Gordon?"

"That he's been a troublemaker for years. And he's a hopeless drunk." I took a chance. "Can I ask a question?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. "I may no' answer."

"Understood. Where on the property was the body found?"

"Southeast corner. Not far from his caravan."

"And he _burned_ to death?"

"It seems so."

"Who found him?"

"The farmer who owns Barleymill Farm, where Gordon's caravan is parked. Fellow named Burgess. Do ye know him?"

"No, sir."

"Aye, then. That'll be all. Thanks for your cooperation."

I stood. "Can we leave the castle?"

"Sorry, no." He didn't look sorry. "We need to question several people in the town before the word spreads too far."

I sighed. "Fine."

"We'll also be sendin' scene of crime officers to search your rooms."

"Fine." I should have known there was no way we'd avoid that.

"If you would, send D.S. Kennedy in."

"Yes, sir."

Back in the dining room I told Kennedy curtly, "He wants you."

Kennedy made a sour face and got up, shooting a scowl in Kevin's direction as he left the room. I plopped into my seat with a sigh. "We can't leave the castle. And they're going to fingerprint us, and search our rooms."

Kristen said, "Can we at least leave _this_ room?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God. I've had to pee for a half hour." She hopped to her feet.

I said, "He wouldn't let you _pee?_ "

"I didn't want to ask for any favors. Be right back." She zipped across the hall to the bathroom in the entryway.

Kevin shook his head. "I find it intriguing and odd that Graham didn't have Kennedy sit in the interviews with him. It'd be like me leaving Jon to guard suspects. Who _does_ that? You have the uniforms do that."

Pete said, "Maybe they're not partners. Maybe Graham got saddled with Kennedy. Or maybe they are partners, but Graham thinks Kennedy is an idiot."

Dad said, "At this point, anything's possible. Is anyone hungry?"

We all made sounds of assent. Jeff said, "We can't get back into the kitchen yet, though."

Val said, "As soon as we can, we'll make lunch."

Claudia said, "I saw something."

We all froze. Dad was the first to find his voice. "You told the police?"

"Of course."

Kevin asked, "What did you see?"

"I couldn't tell. I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. I don't even know what time it was. But something - whatever it was - caught my eye as I was going back to bed. I looked outside, but I couldn't tell what I was seeing."

Kristen asked, "What did it look like?"

"Well...it was a sort of vague flickering glow."

Kevin sat forward. "Could it have been a fire?"

"I suppose. But it was a ways off."

I started calculating angles. "Did Graham ask you which room you were staying in?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because your windows face in the wrong direction. All of our rooms look over the back of the property, toward the north. I asked Graham where Gordon's body was found, and it was near the front of the property."

We all pondered that information for a moment. Dad said, "Then what the hell did you see?"

Claudia spread her hands. "Beats me."

A few minutes later, Graham appeared in the doorway, Kennedy lurking behind him. Graham said, "The SOC officers should be here shortly to take your fingerprints and search. I'd ask that ye stay here in the castle grounds for the evenin'. Thanks for your cooperation."

Pete followed the cops outside to make sure they left, then came back inside. "They're gone."

Kristen had returned from the bathroom. "Hallelujah."

Dad stood and stretched. "Okay. Who's ready for lunch?"

We all were. Val made egg salad and Pete threw together a fruit salad, while Kevin sliced bread. Dad prepped two chickens for baking for dinner, and Claudia washed potatoes and carrots for roasting.

I went up to the office, where Finn was watching a rugby match on TV and Fiona was on her laptop. She looked up with a grin. "Are the coppers gone?"

"Yup. We still can't leave the castle grounds, but you all could. We're making egg salad sandwiches for lunch, but if you'd rather have something else..."

Finn said, "Egg salad is fine, if you have enough."

"We always have enough."

The scene of crime officers - forensics examiners - came as we began to eat. One by one we had our fingerprints taken, then returned to our sandwiches. Pete escorted the officers - one man, one woman - upstairs, to show them who was staying where. After we'd eaten, Finn and Fiona drove into town to see the sights, promising to be back for dinner. The rest of us were antsy. We all chipped in to clean the kitchen and dining room, then Kevin set his hands on his hips. "Anyone feel like a walk?"

Pete and I said in unison, "Hell, yeah."

We struck out toward the rear of the castle first, to see if we could find any trace of what Claudia had seen from her window in the middle of the night. We eventually reached a low stone wall. I didn't think it was the property boundary - surely there was a higher fence or wall that delineated the extent of the castle property. Pete peered over the wall and said, "Hey. Look at this."

The field on the other side of the wall had been allowed to go to meadow. The grasses and wildflowers were just below knee height, well over our ankles. We all leaned over, and saw that along the wall, extending some way in both directions, the grass had been trampled. Not flat; I didn't think that a crowd of people had been here.

Kevin turned toward the castle, shielding his eyes. "I think that's your bathroom window, Claudia. You'd have been looking right in this direction."

Claudia shook her head slowly. "I didn't have my contacts in. All I could see was a blurry glow. It seems as if someone was back here, though?"

Pete said, "I think so." He leaned over and plucked one stem which was broken. The ends hadn't dried, and the top above the break was still green and pliable. "This was done less than 24 hours ago, I'd estimate."

Val said, "But Calum Gordon's body was found near the front of the property. It wouldn't have been him that you saw."

Kevin said, "No. If he was on fire, he wouldn't have made it this far."

We paused to consider that somberly. Then Dad said, "Let's go around to the front."

We headed straight back for the castle but passed around the far side this time, to our left, and proceeded on to where, in the distance, we could see white-clad figures moving around. There was yellow crime scene tape attached to stakes, barring us from approaching any closer than about 100 feet. The body was gone, but we could clearly see the scorched oval in the otherwise green grass. A nasty smell hovered in the air.

Kevin said, "Huh."

Jeff said, "What?"

"There's no trail. If Gordon had been moving, there should be some sign of it. There isn't, that I can see."

Constable Roddy Simpson detached himself from the clump of police watching the scene, and approached us. "Done with the inquisition, are you?"

Pete said, "Finally, yes. Where's the victim's caravan from here?"

Roddy pointed in the opposite direction, on the other side of the crime scene. "A few hundred meters that way."

Kevin asked, "How do you think he got out here?"

"Aye, that's the mystery." Roddy waved at the scorched spot. "He was wrapped up like a cocoon. Or seemed to be, from what was left. Couldn't have walked far."

Pete asked, "Accelerant?"

"Can't be sure yet. They're bringing a dog over later today." He nodded at me. "Let you out of the castle, did they?"

I said, "Yes, but we're restricted to the grounds."

Kevin was looking around, frowning. "Don't see how this could be an accident."

Roddy said, "Aye, that's unlikely. As is suicide."

I said, "He wouldn't have killed himself. He was hoping for a big payday from us."

Roddy asked, "Are they treatin' ye as suspects?"

Dad said, "Oh, I don't think so," just as Kevin said, "Yes."

Roddy laughed. "A bit o' difference in opinion there. I doubt that they believe one of you was responsible, though. At least no' from what they've said to me. Which is bloody little enough."

Pete said, "No respect for local law enforcement?"

"No' much." Roddy made a sour face. "Hot stuff from Glasgow, they think they are."

Kristen asked, "Why the hell do they bring them all the way from Glasgow?"

Roddy spread his hands. "They might come from Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Glasgow... anywhere. Major Investigation Teams, they're called. Whichever team is available, that's who they send."

Kevin shook his head. "No local knowledge."

"Aye." Roddy raised an eyebrow. "That won't get them far with the folk of Forres, I promise you."

There wasn't much else to see. We wandered back to the castle. The visitor parking lot was empty, and the scene of crime van was still in the back lot by our door, so we took the opportunity to wander into the gift shop.

The woman behind the counter was reading a paperback; she looked surprised to see us. "Oh, hello! I didn't know there was a tour on."

I said, "There's not. We're staying in the Laird's Apartments this week."

"Ohhhh, yes! You're Brodies from America!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well. Make yourselves at home." She gestured around the small shop. "If I can answer any questions for you, let me know."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jeff and Val bought t-shirts for Colin and Gabe, my nephews, who'd been left at home with two of Val's brothers and their families for two weeks. Dad bought a book about the castle, and Kristen and Claudia purchased fridge magnets. Pete and I didn't buy anything; we'd been here before.

Back inside the castle, we encountered one of the investigators in the kitchen, a young woman in a white coverall. I said, "Hi there. How much longer will you all be?"

"Oh, we're nearly done." She smiled at me. "Sorry for the disturbance."

"You're just doing your jobs."

"Aye." She glanced past me as another white-suited being entered. "Are we done, then, Jimmy?"

"Aye." Jimmy nodded to me. "We'll be out of your way now."

I saw them out the back door then joined the others in the kitchen. Kristen asked, "What time is it?"

I checked my watch. "Almost 5:00."

Jeff said, "Good. I need a _drink_."

Dad said, "We also need to get dinner started."

Pete, Dad, Claudia, and Val busied themselves in the kitchen. Jeff, Kevin, Kristen and I decamped to the first-floor sitting room. Jeff went to his room and returned with one of his Dallas Dhu bottles. I retrieved drinking glasses from the mini-kitchen, and Jeff poured a hefty dram for each of us.

Kristen asked me, "Was your room messed up?"

"No. You could tell it had been rummaged through, but they were tidy about it."

Kevin said, "They knew they wouldn't find anything."

"Based on what we know so far...any theories?"

Kevin stretched out in the chair and leaned his head back against the seat back. "We know the guy lived close to where he was found. But we also know that he was wrapped up in a blanket or blankets. Like a cocoon, the constable said."

I said, "Would have been hard to walk."

"Yeah." Kevin sipped his drink. "We know the guy's a hopeless drunk. My bet is that someone carried him out there then set him on fire."

Jeff asked, " _Why?_ "

"My guess? The news got around that he was going to try to blackmail us about Uncle Woody. Everyone in town despised him, right?"

I said, "That's the impression I got from Catherine and from Mrs. Sutherland."

"Maybe this was the last straw for someone. Or more than one someone."

I said, "He was obese. It would have taken more than one someone to carry him, if that's what happened. Although...it might not have been related to us. Inverness is the drug capital of Scotland. Maybe Calum was tangled up in that."

Kevin considered that. "Hm. Maybe, but I doubt it. Drug dealers tend to prefer their associates to be reliable. Calum doesn't strike me as someone who'd qualify."

Jeff looked back and forth between Kevin and me. "Is this _normal_ conversation for you two?"

Kevin just laughed. I said, "Kinda."

He shook his head. "I'm glad I live a hundred miles away from you."

I heard voices on the stairs; Fiona and Finn were back. Fiona breezed into the sitting room, waving a bottle of Glen Moray. "We come bearing gifts!"

I said, "Awesome. Grab a couple of glasses from the kitchenette for yourselves."

They did so, and parked themselves on the floor at our feet. Fiona said, "You'll never believe what rumor is spreading about your dead guy."

Kristen said, "What?"

Fiona held her glass up and made the pronouncement. "Spontaneous. Human. Combustion."

Kevin groaned. Kristen and I burst out laughing. Jeff said, " _What??_ "

Kevin said, "You are _not_ serious."

"Och, aye, I am. The checkout girl at Tesco, the woman behind the counter at the bakery, the lad at the pet shop, the ladies at the gift shop on High Street... They're all saying the same thing. Spontaneous human combustion."

Kevin threw his head back and groaned again. "Oh, for fuck's _sake_."

Kristen said, "So I'm guessing that's not actually a thing."

" _No_ , it's not a thing."

I said, "I know how it works, though. CSI did a show on it once."

Jeff snorted. Finn said, "Enlighten us. Please."

"It's not spontaneous. There's always a source of ignition, but it typically gets destroyed in the fire. Almost always, the person is either near a fireplace or a candle, or some other source, or falls asleep smoking. There's something to do with a wick theory, too."

Kevin said, "When their body fat begins to burn, it soaks into their clothes and the rest of the body catches fire quickly after that."

Kristen said, "There was no other fire source out there."

I said, "Gordon was smoking when Pete and I saw him on Wednesday night. He probably had a lit cigarette."

Jeff said, "It still doesn't make sense. How could he fall asleep smoking and also be cocooned in blankets?"

Kevin said, "He couldn't. That's why whoever killed him wrapped him up like that, though. He fits almost all the characteristics: chronic alcoholic, smoker, not much else burned besides the body, hands and/or feet are often left intact, and it leaves behind a real stink. The killer or killers probably knew all that, or read up on it. Then they staged it the way they did. May have even started the rumors of spontaneous human combustion themselves."

Kristen asked, "So what did Claudia see? Is that just a coincidence?"

Kevin frowned. "I don't believe in coincidences."

Before long the scent of roasting chicken and vegetables wafted up to us. We roused ourselves with some difficulty and went to our respective bathrooms to wash up. I stuck my head in the open door of Finn and Fiona's room, which had only twin beds. "Do you all want help to shove those beds together?"

Finn just laughed. Fiona said with a grin, "I think we can manage for two nights."

I grinned back. "Okie dokie."

We carefully navigated downstairs to the dining room, where Pete was setting trays of bread on the table. He said, "Grab your plates. Everything's on the sideboards in the kitchen."

We loaded our plates with chicken, roasted vegetables, and sliced tomatoes, and ate until we were nearly bursting. Pete watched in amusement as I buttered a third thick slice of bread. "You're stress eating."

"You bet I am."

It was as if we'd made a silent pact to not discuss Calum Gordon's death during dinner. We talked about the clan gathering, which would begin tomorrow with a parade. Fiona and Finn were going to stay through tomorrow night so that they could attend; both had brought their kilts. Val said, "We're going to be a colorful group."

Claudia said, "We won't be the only ones wearing non-Brodie kilts, will we?"

I said, "Nope. The town Highland Games are taking place as part of the clan gathering. There will be lots of other kilts to see."

Fiona asked Claudia, "What clan are you?"

"My mother was a MacDonald."

Pete said, "Hey, Claudia, my grandmother was a MacDonald. You and I might be distant cousins."

Claudia smiled. "I'd be okay with that."

After dinner, those of us who hadn't cooked made short work of restoring the kitchen to cleanliness, ready for breakfast in the morning. By the time we were done, it was getting late, although it was still light out.

Most of the others headed upstairs to crack open a couple more bottles of whiskey. I was ready to follow when Pete wrapped a hand around my upper arm. "Let's go for a walk."

"Sure."

We retrieved jackets from our room and headed out the back door. I said, "Too much togetherness for you?"

He chuckled. "A little bit. But I also want to take a closer look at that burned spot. And walk off some of this dinner."

There were high, thin clouds in the sky, but they obscured very little light. We picked our way across the mowed front of the property to the crime scene tape. A couple of local constables were guarding the site, but there was no other activity. They nodded to us but didn't speak.

Pete stood at the barrier, his arms crossed, gazing out at the scene. I said, "Kevin and I discussed the fact that Gordon wouldn't have been able to walk out here, wrapped up in blankets. And it would have taken more than one man to carry him."

"My thoughts exactly." Pete narrowed his eyes, scanning the area. "Why out here, where he'd be found quickly, though? Where other people might have seen the fire?"

I said, "We're not near the road. It's not like someone would have driven past and seen it. And the farmer who found him...I don't know. If there wasn't anything to hear, and it's the middle of the night, and his bedroom is on the other side of his house... We didn't see anything, because we were all facing the other way. It was probably the same for him."

"Maybe. But Claudia _did_ see something."

"Yeah, and that's weird. Kevin said he didn't think it was a coincidence."

"No. I find that highly unlikely. But again - why on opposite sides of the castle?"

"I don't know. But if it took two people to haul Gordon out here from his trailer, and someone else was doing - whatever - out behind the castle..."

Pete's expression was grim. "We're looking at a conspiracy of some sort. And I bet the perpetrators aren't the only ones in town who know about it."

"The townspeople will never tell these Glasgow cops anything."

"Nope." Pete nodded resolutely. "So we're going to have to help them."

"I don't think Graham and Kennedy will appreciate that."

He snorted. "Well, we're not going to _tell_ them about it, are we?"

Back at the castle, everyone else had retired for the evening. I spent an hour at the table in our room transcribing interviews from Glasgow while Pete was reading his Highland laird romance in bed. When I crawled into bed beside him, I leaned over to see the book. "How is it?"

"It's okay. Kind of predictable. But it's well-written, and the romantic stuff is nice."

"What kind of romantic stuff?"

He stuck the bookmark in his place, then laid the book aside. "Oh, you know. Kissing and stuff."

"Is it possible you could demonstrate some of this stuff to me?"

He grinned. "I think I could manage that."

### Saturday

Val and Kristen had met at my wedding three years ago, and had been thick as thieves ever since. When Pete and I got downstairs to the breakfast table, they had their heads together, talking in low voices. I said, "What are you two plotting?"

Val said, " _Shh_. We don't want the husbands to know."

The husbands - Jeff and Kevin - were in the kitchen with Dad and Claudia. There was no sign of Finn or Fiona yet.

Kristen said, "We're going into town and chat up a few people. See if anyone will drop any hints about what happened to Calum Gordon. Someone must know something."

Pete and I looked at each other and grinned. He said, "We kind of had the same idea."

Val pointed at me. "Perfect. Since you guys know lots of people in town, we can split up. Pete, you're with me. Kristen, you've got Jamie."

Kristen said, "Works for me. You guys can introduce us to people you know, and we'll just sort of bring up the case casually."

I said, "We _cannot_ let Kevin know what we're doing. He'd skin us alive for interfering with a police investigation."

Val made a _pfft_ sound. "We're not interfering. We're just getting to know people in the town. If they choose to discuss it, who are we to argue?"

Kristen said, "Besides. Kevin's thinking of buying young P.C. Roddy Simpson a pint and having some cop talk."

Finn and Fiona arrived, and we sat down to eggs and toast. We were nearly done with breakfast when Angus Grant, the caretaker whom we'd met when we arrived, appeared in the doorway. "And how are ye fine folks this morning? Just thought I'd check to see if everything was to your liking."

Dad said, "Everything's terrific, thanks. I guess you heard about what happened to Calum Gordon."

"Aye." Angus frowned. "There was a bad 'un since he was a wee boy. There's no' many that'll miss him."

Dad asked, "Are there any that'll miss him? We haven't heard anyone speak well of him."

Angus considered that for a moment. "Come to think of it, no. He had no close family left. I doona even know who'll be responsible for his arrangements."

I asked, "Are there many Gordons left around here?"

"Nae. Not for several generations now. Thought they were too good for a small town like this, didn't they?"

Kristen said, "I guess the police interviewed you yesterday."

"Och, aye." Angus shrugged. "Couldna tell them much. I did see something odd, but it was in the opposite direction from where Calum met his end. Probably nowt to do wi' him."

We all exchanged glances around the table. Kevin asked, "What did you see?"

"Well, now, I'm not sure exactly what it was, come to that." He chuckled. "My eyes aren't what they were, you know. But sort of a glowing, flickering thing, it was. Well behind the castle, probably beyond the burn. Not as far as Ellands Farm."

Ellands Farm was northwest of the castle, exactly in the opposite direction from where Calum Gordon's body had been discovered. Claudia said, "That sounds exactly like what I saw."

I asked, "Do you suppose anyone at Ellands Farm saw it?"

"Nae. After the polis were done wi' me, I had a stroll over there. No one there saw anything. I did hear later that one o' the guests at Fincairn Bed and Breakfast, over to Dyke, saw something out their back window. Must have been the same thing."

Claudia said, "Well. I'm glad to hear that it wasn't just me. I was starting to think I was crazy."

"It's a crazy thing, all right, but it's not us that're crazy."

Val asked, "What do you think it was?"

"Och, now, that I couldna tell ye." He shook his head. "I'm not one to believe in ghosts, myself, but it was a ghostly thing, now, wasn't it?"

Claudia nodded. "Yes, it was. And I don't believe in ghosts either."

"There are plenty around here that do, though." Angus nodded sagely. "You'll know the story about Lady Margaret burnin' to death in the castle."

I said, "But there's no legend of her being a ghost, is there? At least not that I've heard."

"Nae. No' until now, maybe. Could be that Lady Margaret came back to punish the Gordons for burnin' down the castle."

Pete made a cartoon ghost "woo-WOO-woo" sound, and we all laughed. From behind Angus a voice said, "We'd rather ye no' spread rumors such as that, Mr. Grant."

Angus turned as we all looked past him to see D.I. Graham, scowling at us. I was beginning to believe that was his usual expression. Angus said, "Och, now, Mr. Graham, I wouldna do that, would I? We were just havin' some fun."

"Aye." Graham looked past Angus to us. "We need to speak to the Brodies, if you doona mind."

"Och aye, I'll be on my way." Angus lifted a hand to us in farewell and left.

Graham was alone. Pete asked, "Where's D.S. Kennedy?"

"Fillin' out paperwork." Graham donned gloves, then produced a folder from a battered briefcase. "We think we've found the documents that Gordon intended to offer up as proof of his claim against your uncle."

I indicated Fiona, who was sitting to my left. "Fiona's an archivist at the University of Edinburgh. She's an expert in authentication of World War II documents."

Graham eyed Fiona. "Is she, now? They've experts in that sort of thing at Edinburgh?"

Fiona stood up, crossed her arms, and spoke, her Glaswegian accent as thick as I've ever heard it. "I'll _not_ have disrespect from a West End lad, thank you very much."

I could tell from the expressions on my family's faces that most of them hadn't understood a word Fiona said. Graham smirked. "Big talk from an East Kilbride girl."

"Aye, and I can back it up. Let's see these documents."

Finn was grinning. Graham was trying not to, and mostly failing. He opened the folder and spread the documents out on the table. "Don't touch."

"I'm not daft." Fiona leaned over the table and almost immediately began shaking her head. "These are not even _close_ to authentic. The letterhead is worded wrong, and there's no stamp mark at the bottom." She picked up her phone, which had been lying beside her plate, and began tapping. "I'll show ye what they should look like."

Graham crossed his arms and waited. A few moments later Fiona showed him her screen. "There. That's an RAF bombing order. And this..." She tapped again. "This is a combat report, and this..." Another tap. "This is a report from the Turkish ambassador to Churchill after one of the bombing raids over Germany."

"I see." Graham's scowl returned. "Are there other tests to be done?"

"Aye. We can test the papers and inks to determine their age. We'd have to have them at the university for that, though."

"When are you going back to Edinburgh?"

"Tomorrow."

Graham said, "Perfect. D.S. Kennedy will bring the papers to you on Monday for the testin'."

I chuckled inwardly at the thought of Kennedy as Graham's errand boy, doing all of the scut work for this case. Fiona said, "I'll look forward to it."

Graham left without imparting any more information. We took about an hour to clean the kitchen and our living spaces, then loaded into the cars and headed to town, agreeing to meet back at the bakery at noon for lunch.

Dad and Claudia headed for the library to do more research into Claudia's family. Fiona and Finn chose to wander High Street, visiting shops. Jeff spotted a flyer in a window - there was a farm show starting today, across the A96 from town, near the Burn of Mosset. He pointed it out to Val. "Look, hon, farm animals. Let's go find some Highland coos."

Val shot Kristen a glance. "Um..."

Jeff caught on fast. "Oh, _hell_ , no. You are _not_ gonna spend all day investigating this death with these guys, are you? _Please_ tell me you're not gonna do that."

"Well..."

Jeff's tone turned wheedling. "Come on, Val. Baby goats."

She started to laugh. "You don't know that they have baby goats."

"I bet they do." He jerked a thumb in the direction of Kristen and me. "Leave these two to their favorite hobby."

"Oh, okay." Val shrugged. "Sorry, Kristen."

Kristen said, "It's fine. Go visit the baby goats."

When they'd walked away, Kevin turned to Kristen and me, hands on his hips. "What are you two doing? Do _not_ tell me that you're going to interfere in a police investigation in a _foreign country_."

Kristen said, "We're not interfering in anything. Jamie's going to introduce me to some of our relatives here, that's all. And I _know_ you're gonna try to talk to P.C. Simpson, so don't lay a guilt trip on _me_ , Kevin Brodie."

Pete and I were laughing. Kevin shook his head. "Fine. Pete, you going with them or me?"

Pete said, "I'll come with you. I'm interested to hear what Simpson has to say, too."

I said, "He might not be able to meet with you until later."

Kevin said, "If not, we'll go pat some baby goats."

We left them, laughing.

The first place that Kristen and I went was to the bookstore on High Street. When I pushed the door open, the proprietor exclaimed, "Jamie Brodie! I was wondering when you'd be around to visit."

Brenda Cumming was the owner and operator of Forres Books, the only seller of new books in town. I'd spent some time in the store last year, as Brenda had an outstanding collection of books on local history, and we'd gotten to know each other well.

I hugged Brenda, and turned to introduce Kristen. "Brenda Cumming, this is my sister-in-law, Kristen Beach. She's married to my brother Kevin."

Brenda shook Kristen's hand. "Och, it's lovely to meet you. Jamie, where's that handsome partner of yours?"

"I think he went to the farm show."

"Aye, that's where I'd be on a gorgeous day like this."

Kristen had spotted a display on a table that hadn't yet caught my eye - but did so immediately when she drew my attention to it. "Look, Jamie, it's your book."

There were two stacks of my books, about twenty in total, with another propped on a holder to show the front. I said, "Holy cow, Brenda. You can't possibly sell many of those."

"You'd be surprised. Most everyone in the town that's interested in history at all has bought one. As a matter of fact..." She grinned. "I have an idea."

I said, "Uh oh."

"But it's a _grand_ idea. We should have a book signing."

Kristen applauded. "Wonderful! That _is_ a grand idea."

I said, "Um..."

Brenda said, "We'll hold it before the end of the clan gathering. All those American Brodies comin' to town will want copies of your book."

I said, "Um..."

Kristen looked around. "Is there room in here? It would work out on the sidewalk, I think, but then what if it rains?"

Brenda said, "Aye. That's a fair point. What about the library?"

I said, "Um..."

Kristen asked, "Can you bring books over to the library to sell?"

"Aye, I'm sure we can work that out."

I said, " _Whoa_. Wait. I don't know about this."

Both women turned to me with identical expressions on their faces that said, _Why the hell not?_ Kristen said, "Oh, come on. It's perfect. How many American Brodies even know about your book? Now they will!"

Brenda said, "I'll have Deirdre keep the store open, and have some of your books on hand here, but we'll bring the rest up to the library. Anyone who stops into the bookshop, she'll point them in that direction."

Kristen asked, "Do you have a way to make posters or announcements within the next day or so?"

"Aye. There's a printer right down the street. I'm sure he'll be happy for the job."

I said, "WAIT!"

Brenda and Kristen both looked at me disapprovingly. Kristen said, "What?"

I said weakly, "Can I at least get final approval on the posters?"

Brenda laughed. Kristen slugged me in the shoulder. " _That's_ what I'm talkin' about!"

I rubbed my shoulder. " _Ow_."

Twenty minutes later we had a sketch of a poster that was acceptable to me. Brenda called Moira Fraser at the library, who was thrilled by the idea. Brenda's niece Deirdre, the bookshop assistant, arrived, and was dispatched to the printer to place the order. Kristen asked, "Do you have enough of Jamie's books?"

I said, "I don't think you're going to need that many."

Brenda said, "I have two more cases in the back. If we run out, I have stickers. Jamie can sign them, then the buyers can stick them into their books when the order comes in."

Kristen said, "That's _brilliant_."

Brenda grinned. "We've had signings here before. Always done well for us, too."

Deirdre returned with good news. "Frank says he'll get right on it. We'll have the posters by tomorrow noon."

Brenda said, "Perfect. Thank you."

Deirdre lowered her voice. "Those polis from Glesgae came in to speak with Frank as I was leaving."

Brenda said, "Hmph. What would Frank know about it?"

I asked, "Did you know Calum Gordon, Brenda?"

"Aye. Everyone knew Calum."

Deirdre muttered, "Everyone _hated_ Calum."

Kristen said, "We still don't have a plausible reason for why he'd be killed, though."

Deirdre said, "Annie down the lane from me said it was spontaneous combustion."

I groaned. Kristen said, "Yeah, we heard the same thing."

Brenda shook her head. "Nobody will miss Calum. That 'un was wrong from the day he was born. Always making trouble."

I asked, "Did you grow up with him?"

"Och, aye. My younger brother Teddy was in the same year as Calum. Teddy used to come home with tales of Calum. Bein' a bully to the wee bairns, always pickin' on the girls. Teddy could hold his own, so Calum never bothered him much. But a lot of the other boys and girls had troubles."

Kristen asked, "Where were his parents?"

Brenda sniffed disapprovingly. "His da was a drunk, just like Calum. His ma would never hear a word against him. He was the only child. She couldna have others after him, so she spoiled him. As much as she was able, anyway. The Gordons didna have much."

Deirdre said, "Remember, Aunt Brenda, he killed one of Robbie Grant's dogs."

Brenda tsked. "Aye, I remember. Robbie and his brothers jumped Calum after school the next day. The neighbors had to call the polis to break it up."

I said, "Is Robbie Grant still in town?"

Brenda shook a finger at me. "Now, I know what ye're suggesting, and the answer is no. Robbie's long gone. Went to St. Andrews for uni then moved to Leeds. He works for a big company down there. The rest of his brothers are all scattered, too. One of them ended up in Australia."

I was about to ask another question when my phone beeped with a text from Jeff. _There's fair food here. Gonna grab lunch here and stay over._

OK. Having fun?

_Yup. Met the local vet, and a guy who raises draft horses. Lots to talk about_.

Jeff and Val had bought two draft horses for their farm, and would be taking delivery of them when we returned to California. I responded, _OK cool. See you at dinner_.

Kristen said, "It's nearly noon. We should be moving on."

I said, "Thanks for the book signing idea, Brenda. I think."

She laughed. "We'll see you at the parade tonight, then."

We went up the street to the library, where Moira was beyond excited about the book signing. She was already supervising two volunteers, who were moving chairs, tables, and displays to make room. I said, "Moira. The signing isn't for a few days yet."

"Aye, but it doesn't hurt to be ready. And we'll create a display here, with a notice about the signing, so everyone who comes in will see. It'll be _grand_."

Kristen laughed. I said, "Uh huh. What's the best day for it?"

"I'm thinking Wednesday. The clan gathering will be in full swing and the town should be packed."

A patron approached the desk, and Moira turned to her. "Good mornin', Ellen. What can I do for ye?"

Ellen was in her late forties, wearing a skirt, blouse and sweater. Office-appropriate attire. She was probably on her lunch break. "Do you have any books on spontaneous human combustion?"

Kristen and I looked at each other in alarm. Moira said, "We have one, but it's already been checked out this morning. Do you want me to alert you when it comes in?"

"Aye, that'd be brilliant."

Moira made the arrangements in her computer, and Ellen went away happy. I asked, "Who checked out the book on human combustion already?"

Moira raised an eyebrow. "Roddy Simpson."

Our friendly local constable. Looking for clues, possibly. I said, "Ah."

Another flurry of patrons came in. I said, "Moira, you're getting busy. Can we have tea on Monday morning, and talk more about the book signing?"

"Aye, that's a plan. Around 10:00? I'll get the library open and make sure my staff shows up as they're supposed to."

"Perfect. I'll meet you here."

It was noon, so Kristen and I made our way down the street to the bakery. We were already starting to see people in Brodie kilts with American accents wandering around the streets. Kristen said, "I hope this will be a huge boost for the town economically."

"How could it not be? I just hope we can find parking spaces when we need them."

Kristen glanced around to ensure that no one was within earshot. "That might be the ugliest library building I've ever seen."

"Right? Moira and I talked about that last summer. The community centre was built with EU money. Aesthetics were not a priority."

"It's a shame." She gestured to High Street, which was composed almost entirely of lovely old stone buildings. The library and community centre comprised the primary blot on the landscape. "Such a gorgeous little town, and that one building squats there like a toad among...parrots."

I laughed. " _Parrots?_ "

She grinned. "The first colorful thing that popped into my head."

"Speaking of colorful, why the hell was Val drinking Irn Bru the other night? It's _vile_."

"She thought it was orange soda like we're used to. When she uncapped it I could smell it was something different, but she said it worked with the vodka. You're not a fan, huh?"

"Pah. No. Did you taste it?"

"No, but now I'm curious..."

"Trust me. Don't bother."

When we got to the bakery, Dad, Claudia, Pete, and Kevin were already there, choosing their pies. Kristen and I ordered, and Kevin and Pete went down the street to Spar for drinks - _not_ Irn Bru - and crisps. When they returned and our pies were hot, we walked back up the street to Grant Park, where we spread out our feast.

I told the others about the book signing. Claudia said, "Oh, what a wonderful idea! Good for you, for the bookstore, for the town..."

Dad was laughing at my expression. "She's right, you know."

I said, "I know. It's just... It feels like work on my vacation."

Pete said, "That doesn't sound like work, it sounds like fun."

"Are you gonna sit there with me through the whole thing?"

"What whole thing? It won't be all day, will it? Four hours, tops?"

I grumbled. "I guess."

He nudged me in the ribs. "Come on. Where's your civic spirit?"

"Okay, okay. I just need time to warm up to the idea."

Kevin was snickering. "Are they gonna put your picture on the posters?"

Kristen laughed. I said, "Yeah, unfortunately, the picture from the book flap."

Dad said, "That's a good picture of you."

Kevin said, "Looks just like you."

I threw a piece of bread at him, which he deftly caught. "By the way. Pete and I are meeting Roddy Simpson at the Red Lion for a pint a couple of hours before the parade tonight. Wanna come with?"

"Gee, let me think about that for a minute. _Yes_."

The benefit of meeting Roddy Simpson at 4:00 was that we were able to get a parking space downtown before the crowds started flooding in. I parked just up the street from the Red Lion. Roddy was already there, just taking the first sip of his pint. We ordered and procured our pints and joined him at a corner table. Pete asked, "How did you get off parade duty this evening?"

"Been working too many hours on this murder case." Roddy swallowed another mouthful of beer. "Everyone else in the department is on duty tonight."

Kevin said, "So. Let me tell you a story, and you can tell us what you think of our story."

Roddy looked amused. "Sure, that'll be fine."

"Calum Gordon." Kevin kicked back and swigged his beer. "Hated since birth. Drunk father, overprotective mother who made him feel like he could do no wrong. Once he got to school, he quickly established himself as the town bully. Fought smaller kids, even killed someone's dog. We don't know for sure, but I expect that the pattern continued. I'd bet that Calum Gordon wreaked a ton of havoc over the years."

Roddy said, "That he did." He didn't elaborate.

Kevin continued. "So, everyone in the town has reason to hate Calum Gordon. Many, many grudges are held. A lot of people probably wish that someone else would make Calum go away."

Roddy's face was impassive. Cop face. "I can't say that's wrong."

"Then, last summer, Jamie and Pete come to town. They're renting that cottage for six weeks; word gets around that they might have some money to their names. Not long after they go home, Jamie books a ten-day stay at the castle. That's another sign that he might have money to spare. Calum hears the rumors, and he gets an idea. It's a terrible idea, but in his alcohol soaked brain, it sounds _brilliant_."

Roddy said, "Aye. I've no doubt that it happened exactly like that."

"Calum tracks Jamie when he gets to town, then approaches him near here on the sidewalk on Wednesday night, threatens him with blackmail. Says he has documents that prove our great-uncle Woody was a spy for the Germans. The next morning, Jamie and Pete talk to a few people, trying to learn more about Calum before they have to confront him again."

Roddy's expression darkened. "Aye."

"Pete and Jamie go off to Edinburgh for an overnight. Back in town, the word has spread about what Calum's threatening us with. By morning, most everyone in the town knows what Calum's been up to. We know how people in the town feel about our Uncle Woody, and that the people of the town would probably rush to defend his name. But for a few folks, this is absolutely the last straw."

Roddy said, "Hm."

"For whatever reasons, there are a handful of people in town who hate Calum even more than most. He's done the most wrong to them over the years. A few of those people put their heads together, and come up with a plan."

Roddy said, "Hm."

Kevin didn't allow Roddy's reticence to discourage him. "It's known that there was a death by fire at the castle at one time. These people decide they can take advantage of that. They do some reading about death by fire, and come up with the idea of spontaneous human combustion. It's a relatively easy way to cover your tracks when committing murder by arson, because the evidence is destroyed in the flames."

I said, "You went to the library and checked out the one book they had about spontaneous combustion this morning."

"Aye." Roddy didn't seem to feel as if he had to deny or hide that. "Needed to read up on it for the case, didn't I? No' to mention, keepin' it away from the rest of the town. It could only fuel the gossip, so to speak."

I laughed at the pun. Kevin said, "We're getting ahead of ourselves. Anyway. The perpetrators go to Calum's trailer. Caravan. Whatever. He's probably already stupid drunk. Maybe they drink with him some more, but I'm not sold on that. Even drunk, Calum would know that these guys - I'm assuming they're men rather than women - would never join him for a friendly drink. Maybe they slip him a drug to knock him out. Anyway, before long, Calum is unconscious. The killers wrap him up, carry him out to the edge of the castle property, and set him on fire with one of his own cigarettes. Had to be more than one person. It would take at least two to carry Calum any distance."

Roddy said, "Could 'ave happened that way."

"But that's not the end of the story. Don't forget about the tale of Lady Margaret's death by fire. Someone else has the role of playing ghost. I'm not sure how they did it, but they were seen at the opposite side of the property by three independent witnesses who saw something that looked like it was burning. They were too far away to see any detail."

Roddy said, "Quite the coincidence, that."

"Right." Kevin drained his pint.

I said, "Need another?"

"Yup."

I went to the bar for refills. When I returned Kevin was saying, "They hang around long enough to make sure that Calum's good and dead, then they walk away. They probably didn't use vehicles. They knew there'd be a police investigation, and they're smart enough to know that the cops look at tire tracks and footprints. Their pal who's played ghost meets them back at the road, and they go home. Next day, before the police can even start questioning anyone in town, the word spreads that Calum died by spontaneous human combustion. Probably a rumor started by the killers themselves."

Pete said, "And then the Glasgow cops show up. They don't know the town, they don't know the people, they're used to dealing with dirtbags stabbing each other for drugs and money. They're fine at their jobs in the city, but they're out of their comfort zone here, and they don't know how to talk to the locals. And it doesn't help that they think the locals are ignorant rubes. And that prejudice shows."

Roddy scowled. "Aye."

Kevin said, "That's the end of the story, at least as far as we know it. But I'm betting that you, Roddy, have your own ideas about what happened."

Pete added, "And you may or may not be sharing them all with the Glasgow cops."

Roddy looked back and forth between us for a few minutes, then drained his own pint. I said, "Want another one?"

"Aye."

When I came back with Roddy's second pint he said, "Thanks." He took a drink then crossed his arms and lowered his voice. "I'm not sayin' you're wrong."

That was as good as an outright confirmation, I figured. Roddy continued. "I doubt that you'll ever learn who set the fire. I'm workin' on that, but the townspeople aren't even talking to me. Just rumor and innuendo."

Pete asked, "What will you do if you find out for sure who's responsible?"

"Have to cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?"

Kevin said, "Has the autopsy been done?"

"Aye. The results came back just before I came here to meet you."

Pete said, "And...."

"What you'd expect. They couldn't tell where on his body the fire started. All that was left intact was his hands and feet. They've sent samples for toxicology results, to see if the killers slipped anything into Calum's drink. Those results should be back late tomorrow."

Kevin whistled. "That's fast."

Roddy smiled. "It's a small country. The arson dog came this afternoon, and there were traces of accelerant. As you'd expect. Not sure we can identify what it was. Not sure that matters."

Kevin said, "No doubt they used something common."

"Aye. Petrol, most likely." Roddy scratched his nose.

I said, "What about the ghost?"

"If someone..." He gave me a meaningful look. "...could figure out how that was done, it might give us a lead."

I said, "On it."

Kevin asked, "How can we help you?"

Roddy shrugged. "Keep your ears open. Pass on anything you hear to me."

I said, "Not to the Glasgow cops. Got it."

Pete said, "It's always preferable to liaise with local law enforcement."

Roddy just smiled.

We'd arranged to meet the rest of the family near the library. The parade would end at Grant Park, so we'd see it near its end. When we got to the library, we found Dad, Claudia, Jeff, Val, and Kristen already there. Dad said, "Hey guys, we tried haggis."

I started laughing. Pete said, "Oh, God. What did you think?"

Claudia said, "I'm glad I tried it, and now I never have to again."

Dad said, "It wasn't bad, for the fast food version of haggis. I'm thinking if it was home made by someone who knew what they were doing, it might be pretty tasty."

Kristen said, "It needed more spices."

Jeff and Val were shaking their heads. Val said, "I'm with Claudia. Never again."

I was about to respond when we began to hear the distant sound of bagpipes. The parade was starting. Fiona and Finn strolled up, both wearing kilts. I said, "Cool! It didn't occur to us to wear our kilts this evening."

Finn said, "You'll likely be wearing them for the rest of the week."

Fiona lowered her voice. "We've been talking to people."

Kevin asked, "Learn anything interesting?"

"A couple of tidbits. Tell you later."

I wanted to say, "Tell us now!" But the first segment of the parade was approaching. According to the banner, the first unit was the town pipe and drum band of Forres.

There were pipe and drum bands from all over Moray. There were floats, some from businesses, some depicting historical events of the area.

And there were fire trucks.

Pete tugged on my shoulder, and we backed against the wall of the library. He said into my ear, "Fire trucks."

"What about them?"

"If you're going to create a ghost in flames, you're gonna need a fire suit."

My mouth made an O shape as I considered what he said. "So there's a connection to the fire department. Either a current or former firefighter."

"Yeah. Is the fire department farmed out like the police?"

"I think so, but there are obviously local firefighters. Could you make a fire suit burn long enough to look like a ghost?"

"Probably. They do training using live flame, at least they do in LA. But how could they know that anyone would be looking at that time?"

I held up a finger as a thought occurred to me. "Unless someone knew to look at that time."

Pete's eyes widened. "Angus Grant?"

"I don't know. Maybe Claudia just got lucky, and the other two were in on it. At least enough to follow the suggestion that at a certain time, they look out the window. Talk about premeditation."

When the parade ended, we followed the crowd into Grant Park, where there were food vendors set up and a general air of celebration. There was a bandstand toward the center of the park, and people seemed to be gathering there.

We joined the throng, and I noted a man in a Brodie kilt, with long dark hair and sharp features, standing at a microphone. I nudged Dad. "I think that's the current clan chief."

Dad peered over the heads of the people in front of him. "Must be. He matches the photos I've seen online."

He matched the pictures hanging on the walls of Brodie Castle, too. I tried to imagine being him, knowing that your family history was contained in the castle, and having it be entirely out of your reach.

No wonder he'd sued.

He moved to the microphone and began to speak. His accent wasn't Scottish. "Good evening, everyone. I am Alexander Brodie, the 27th Clan Chief. On behalf of the clan, I want to welcome you all to the Brodie Clan Gathering. I now declare this gathering to be officially open."

The crowd cheered. Alexander backed away from the microphone, waved, and turned to leave with several other men. I recognized one of them as Adam Grant; the dignitaries must comprise the town council.

Jeff said, "He didn't have much to say."

I said, "I'm surprised he was here at all."

The main event this evening seemed to be a battle of the bands. Pete and I got in line to buy shortbread for everyone, and met the others at the grandstands, where they'd procured seats on the top row. When we climbed up and distributed shortbread, I noticed that Kevin was missing. I asked, "Where's Kev?"

Kristen said, "Filling out entry forms for the Highland games."

Pete started to laugh. I said, "Oh, that is _awesome_."

Before long Kevin appeared. I handed him a serving of shortbread. "What did you sign up for?"

Kevin grinned. "Caber toss."

The caber toss was the signature event of any Highland Games. Contestants basically lifted then threw a telephone pole into the air. I knew Kevin had watched it at Highland games in the U.S., but he'd never participated. I didn't doubt that he'd be good at it.

The battle of the bands was terrific. A group from Elgin won the young people's division, and a band from Inverness took first place in the adult division. Forres came in second. Afterward we climbed down and wandered amongst the crowds.

Everywhere we went, people stopped Dad to talk about Uncle Woody. One man told how he'd been a kid when Woody had come to town, and Woody had entertained the kids with stories about living in the South Carolina salt marshes. Another man said that one afternoon, Woody had bought ice cream for all the kids.

Without exception, everyone we talked to held Woody in the highest esteem. It wasn't hard to imagine that several of them might have become enraged at a threat to his reputation.

Kevin, Kristen, Pete and I got separated from the others eventually. We spotted Adam Grant in the distance, standing with our clan chief, and I steered the others to meet him.

Alexander Brodie didn't seem the extroverted type, but he shook our hands. Adam said, "Jamie is the author of the new book about the clan."

"Ah, yes." A flicker of interest spread across Alexander's face. "I've read your book. Quite admirable, the research that must have gone into that."

I said, "Thank you."

Adam said, "It's Jamie's family that's staying in the Laird's Apartments this week."

Alexander lifted his chin. "One of those rooms used to be mine."

I said, "I know. Believe me, we're entirely sympathetic to your position."

He smiled, fleetingly. "Good to know."

I wanted to talk to Adam about Calum Gordon, but it was obvious that we wouldn't have the opportunity tonight. We said goodbye to he and Alexander, and wended our way through the crowds again, at one point intersecting with Dad, Claudia, Jeff, and Val. We were standing in a clump, chatting, when I spotted Moira Fraser a few yards away.

I tugged on Pete's arm. "Come on. Let's talk to Moira."

Moira was with her husband, Scott, who was also a Fraser but from a branch that had split from the trunk of the family tree long ago. He was actually more closely related to us than Moira was. They were both in kilts. Scott asked me, "Where's your kilt, man?"

I laughed. "Back at the castle. We'll be wearing them for the rest of the week."

Moira poked me in the shoulder playfully. "Aye, and are ye true Scotsmen?"

Pete and I laughed. "True Scotsmen" didn't wear underwear under their kilts. Pete said, "A gentleman never tells, right?"

I asked, "Not to change to a dreary subject, but have you heard anything else about Calum Gordon's death?"

Moira wrinkled her nose. "Nothing worth repeating. The rumor's all over town that he died by spontaneous human combustion, and that the ghost of Lady Margaret appeared as he was burning."

Pete said, "You don't believe that, do you?"

Moira scoffed. "O' course not. But..." She stopped. "Bugger. There's those bloody Glesgae polis again."

I turned to see D.I. Graham and D.S. Kennedy strolling through the crowd, carrying bottles of Irn Bru. Abstaining from alcohol while on the job, I supposed. Scott said, "Do they believe they'll overhear something that will lead them to the killer?"

Pete said, "Probably. But I'd bet the chances of them overhearing anything from anyone in this crowd are next to nothing. Other than an opinion on the beer, maybe."

Scott laughed. "I expect that's right."

As I watched, it did seem that people moved away as the detectives approached, leaving a bubble of space around them. It wouldn't be easy to overhear anything in that space, even an opinion about the beer.

The good people of Forres wanted nothing to do with Glasgow cops.

I turned back to Moira, who said suddenly, "Och, look there, Scott, it's David Macalister."

"Aye, so it is." Scott's expression was one of perplexity. "I didna know he was coming to the gathering."

"Neither did I." Moira waved to catch the man's attention. "David! David Macalister!"

I turned to see a man, probably in his sixties, with a shock of white hair, wearing a kilt that I assumed must be a Macalister plaid. He waved back and approached. "Moira, Scott, hello! It's good to see you."

"And you as well." Moira indicated us. "David, this is Jamie Brodie and Pete Ferguson. Jamie's the one who wrote the book last year."

"Ah." David shook my hand vigorously. "Congratulations. It's a fine book."

I said, "Thank you. You've read it?"

"Och, aye. I'm descended from the Brodies as well. From the 21st clan chief's youngest daughter."

I said, "Charlotte, right? She was the daughter of James and Lady Margaret."

David laughed. "You know your Brodies, right enough."

I grinned. "I spent hours poring over that family tree."

Scott said, "Are ye just in town for the gathering?"

"Aye, but just a wee visit. I'll be off tomorrow. Have to get back to work, you know."

Moira said to Pete and me, "David lives in Liverpool. Grew up here in Forres."

"Partly." David nodded at me. "Moved away when I was twelve. Fond memories of the place, though."

Scott said, "Have ye heard of Calum Gordon's death?"

"Aye. Something of a shock, that."

I saw Pete's eyes narrow slightly, and I knew why. David didn't seem to be shocked at all. Moira said, "I suppose you've heard this nonsense that Lady Margaret's ghost set fire to Calum."

"Oh, aye. I'm one of those that saw the - well, what everyone's saying was the ghost."

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Pete said, "No kidding! My father-in-law's girlfriend saw it too."

David studied us with a bit more interest. "Aye, I heard that someone in the castle had seen the thing as well. Just sort of a glowing thing, it was."

I said, "That's how Claudia described it. You must be staying at Fincairn. We heard that someone over there saw it too."

"Aye, I am." David shook his head. "A rum thing, isn't it? Although no one will miss Calum."

Scott said, "That's true enough."

David smiled. "Well, I'll be off. Scott, Moira, it's good to see you again. Jamie, I'm delighted to meet another cousin."

I said, "So am I."

We watched him make his way through the crowd toward the park entrance. I said to Scott, "You seemed surprised that he was here."

Scott shrugged. "He doesnae come back often, but then he has no family left here, does he? And this is the first clan gathering we've ever held in the town. Makes sense that he'd come for it."

I spotted Kevin's head in the distance, approaching, and said, "Here's the rest of our family. They're probably ready to leave. Moira, I'll see you Monday for tea, if I don't see you here tomorrow."

"Aye. See you then."

Once our gang was rounded up, we walked back into town to where we'd parked. Our second car, and Fiona's, were over by the fairgrounds where Jeff and Val had spent the morning with the farmers and their animals.

Once we were all back at the castle, we washed up and changed into more comfortable clothes, then gathered in the sitting room for a final wee dram. I said, "Okay, Fiona, you said you'd overheard a couple of interesting items. Spill."

"Well. _Everyone's_ talking about this ghost sighting. It's hard to say whether they actually believe it or not. But the rumor of spontaneous human combustion is gainin' ground. Apparently there was a case a few years ago in Ireland, where the coroner's final report stated that the victim had died as a result of spontaneous human combustion."

Kevin said, "Seriously? That's nuts."

"Aye, but there it is, in the record." Fiona snickered. "The detectives will have a time with that one, won't they?"

Kristen asked, "What was the other thing you heard?"

"There was speculation that some o' Calum's own family might have done him in."

Dad said, "I thought he didn't have any family left."

Fiona shrugged. "Seems there are cousins. Calum's mother had sisters, who lived away, but knew of Calum and his bad behavior. Some in town seem to think that the cousins might have heard about what Calum was up to, and killed him to keep him from staining the family name any further."

Kevin said, "I'm sure the people you overheard haven't mentioned this to the police."

I said, "We could bring it to Roddy Simpson's attention. Just in case."

Talk veered to other topics. After another round, we all stumbled up the stairs to bed. Finn and Fiona let Pete and me into the bathroom first. Once we'd brushed our teeth and shed our clothes, I climbed into bed, a sudden wave of exhaustion crashing over me. I turned off my bedside lamp and groaned. "Aaahhhhhh."

Pete slid between the sheets. "You're tired?"

"Wiped out. You're not?"

He grinned. "I think my capacity for holding drink is higher than yours."

"It should be, you're heavier than I am. A little." I looked up at him through cracked eyelids. "You're not expecting hanky panky tonight, are you?"

"Hm. What if I was?"

I reached behind my head, and shoved the headboard against the wall. It made a resounding thump. I said, "If you were, everyone else on this floor would hear it."

He frowned. "We can't go for a week and a half without sex."

"I know." I yawned. "Just not tonight, okay? Tomorrow, you'll be in a kilt and I'll be drooling and ready. I promise."

"Okay, okay." He grinned and showed me the cover of his book, with the two headless men in kilts. "I'm gonna read up on how to take the most advantage of that."

I chuckled. "Yeah. You do that." I rolled over and was asleep almost instantly.

### Sunday

The next morning I was up before anyone else. I took a bath in the tub then dressed - substituting sweatpants for my kilt, until we were ready to leave - and slipped downstairs to the office to use the wi-fi.

My intention was to research how someone might have created that glowing figure that Claudia, Angus Grant, and David Macalister had seen. If we could sort out how it was done, we might be able to identify the culprit.

I searched for "how stuntmen create fire," and was led to an article that described the process. The stuntperson - I chastised myself for the gender choice in my initial search - had to wear several layers of clothing, including gloves. They also wore hoods and oxygen tanks, like firefighters going into burning buildings. But the most significant requirement was the use of special gel.

The gel was flammable, but kept the fire from spreading. Stunt burns only lasted for a few seconds, and people with fire extinguishers were always standing by.

I wondered how easy the gel was to make or buy, and searched for that information. The answer was that both recipes and the gel itself were plentiful on the web.

Okay, so that wouldn't help us narrow down the list of perpetrators much. But a person couldn't wear normal clothes and be coated in stunt fire gel; they'd have to don protective clothing.

I supposed that it was possible that there might be a current or retired stuntperson living in the area. But the most likely explanation was the easiest explanation - that someone had access to firefighting gear.

I considered that for a moment. I didn't remember meeting anyone last summer who was a firefighter.

Roddy Simpson would definitely know who the town firefighters were, though.

I wondered if it was safe to email him the information, then decided to err on the side of caution. I'd surely see him at some point today and tell him in person.

I was closing down the computer when Dad stuck his head in the door. "Hey, sport, you're up early."

"Yeah, just doing some web surfing. Are you cooking this morning?"

"Nope, Finn and Fiona have offered to do the honors, to repay us for letting them stay here."

I shrugged. "What's to repay? It's the same price, whether the beds are full or not."

"I know. But it's a nice gesture." Dad grinned. "I believe they're going to make scones."

"Fantastic!"

I heard multiple footsteps moving down the stairs out in the hallway, and went out to see who was up. Fiona and Finn were indeed trotting down the steps; Fiona waved up at me. I called, "Need any help?"

"Aye, if you're free."

"You've got it." I hustled down the stairs after them.

Fiona put Finn and me to work frying tomatoes and mushrooms, while she made scones. She didn't use a recipe, just started measuring and mixing. I was impressed. Before long they were baking, and the rest of the family was beginning to drift to the kitchen. Kevin and Kristen set the table and put out jams and marmalades. Fiona let the scones cool for a few minutes, then we dug in.

I groaned in pleasure after my first bite. "Oh, God, Fiona, those are the best I've ever had. _Please_ give Pete the recipe."

She laughed. "Aye, it was my grandmother's recipe. I'm glad to share it."

After breakfast, Jeff, Val, Dad and Claudia cleaned the kitchen while Fiona and Finn went upstairs to finish packing. When they came back downstairs, I walked them to their car. "Thanks for your help, Fiona. We all appreciate it."

She waved that off. "Doona mention it. Tomorrow I'll dig into our archives, and also walk over to the National Library, to see if I can locate documents that exonerate your uncle. There had to be official reports of what became of that spy."

"Oh, that would be awesome. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll email you with whatever I find." Fiona wrinkled her nose. "And I'll have to meet wi' D.S. Kennedy on Monday, and test those fake documents o' Calum Gordon's."

"Right. Let us know about those too."

"I will."

I waved as they drove away, then went back inside to finish dressing.

In our bedroom, Pete was fastening his kilt. I said, "Are you going commando?"

He grimaced. "I thought I would, but... I don't know. It's a windy day. I don't think I want to run the risk of exposing the boys to the elements."

I grinned. "There isn't a long tradition of wearing nothing under your kilt, you know. In the old days, the entire plaid was long enough to wrap between the legs. It gets fuckin' cold here in the winter."

Kevin passed our door, and Pete called out to him. "Hey, Kev. What's under your kilt?"

Kevin raised the edge of his kilt, revealing a pair of black compression shorts. "I'm going to be squatting to heave a telephone pole into the air. I'm not gonna let it all hang out while I'm doing that."

Pete said, "I wonder what your dad has decided to do?"

Kevin and I answered in unison. "No way in _hell_ am I asking him that."

Pete found that hilarious.

Once everyone was dressed, Val made us pose for pictures in our kilts against the castle background. We all looked spiffy, if I did say so myself. Pete stood out in his dark green and navy Ferguson tartan; Claudia was wearing MacDonald of Sleat, mostly red with green woven through. The rest of us were wearing Brodie Modern, a red base with black and yellow accents.

After multiple photos, we piled into the cars and headed for town.

We parked at the fairgrounds, where the farm show was now in full swing. Jeff chose to stay there for the morning. The rest of us walked into town then scattered. Kristen, Val, and Claudia headed off together, and Kevin and Dad went to the venue where the games would be held.

Pete and I decided to walk the perimeter of Grant Park. My first wish was to see if I could find Roddy Simpson, to tell him what I'd learned about staging a burning ghost. There was a police presence surrounding the park, and I hoped Roddy might be one of those on guard.

We found him at the far end of the park, near East Lodge where we'd stayed last summer. Fortunately, he was alone. He spotted us and raised a hand. I said, "Hey, Roddy. What's new?"

"Nowt but the Glesgae polis are makin' more enemies than friends."

I glanced around and lowered my voice. "I did some research on the problem you spoke of yesterday."

Roddy lifted an eyebrow. "Aye?"

I told him what I'd learned about fire gel, and what it would take to stage a burning ghost. "So now there are at least four people involved. Two to carry Calum across the field, one to play ghost and one to douse the ghost."

Pete said, "And two who conveniently saw the ghost just at the time it appeared."

I said, "We met David Macalister last night, when we were talking to Moira and Scott Fraser. Scott seemed surprised that David was here."

It didn't surprise Roddy that Scott was surprised. "Aye. David shook the dust of this town off his feet years ago. He is a descendant of the Brodies, though, so it's not out o' the realm of possibility that he'd choose to come to the gathering."

I said, "Specifically, he's descended from Lady Margaret Duff Brodie."

"Aye." Roddy considered that. "Do ye suspect that the ghost was David's idea?"

"I don't know. He could have just been told to look out his window at a specific time."

Roddy said, "If David and Angus were instructed to see the ghost, and your dad's lady friend hadn't seen it, their testimony would have been far weaker."

Pete said, "Right. They must be overjoyed that Claudia just happened to spot the ghost, too. Assuming that they planned it all."

I asked Roddy, "Do you think they were in on the whole thing? Or do you think they were just told by a friend that they might see something interesting if they looked out their window at a particular time?"

Roddy scratched his nose. I decided that must be his tell for thinking. "Angus would have his suspicions, but wouldnae ask any questions. I doubt that he was told what was happening before the fact, because I doona think that he would have gone along wi' it. Angus is a good man. But if a couple of his mates said, 'We're pullin' a prank, check out your window at this time and you'll see,' he'd have done so with no question. Just believin' it was a prank."

I'd noticed what Roddy had left unspoken. So had Pete. He said, "So you think David Macalister might have been more deeply involved?"

"It's possible. And, if David was here for the gathering, I find it odd that he's already left town. Back to Liverpool early this morning."

Pete asked, "What does he do in Liverpool?"

"Works for a big development company. Some sort of executive."

I asked, "Does D.I. Graham know about David Macalister?"

Roddy's mouth twitched. "Wouldna know about that, would I? The good inspector has no' exactly been forthcoming with sharing his thoughts."

Pete grinned. "You'd like to stay a step ahead of him, wouldn't you?"

"Aye. And with your help, I may be able to manage that."

Pete and I wandered back through the park, stopping at several booths to admire locally made products, and made several purchases. As we were walking away from a seller of handmade soap - I'd stocked up, thinking of Christmas gifts for the ladies in my life - Pete said, "Have you noticed? We're starting to hear more American accents."

I hadn't noticed, but it was true. I said, "I'm not surprised. There's never been a Brodie gathering over here before. It took the president of Clan Brodie of the Americas to put it together."

"Wonder why?"

I shrugged. "I think the Scots are just now realizing what a tourist boon clan gatherings can be. I mean, the huge, intact clans, like Campbell, have had gatherings in Scotland for a long time. But Brodie is a smallish clan, and the chief doesn't even live here anymore... Although, as well as the town is profiting financially from this, so far, I'd be surprised if they didn't make it a regular event."

Pete pointed at a large tent. "Look, there's the Clan Brodie tent. Let's stop by."

We found a spot at the corner of the tent. The large display behind the folding chairs had a map of the Brodie area, photos of the castle with the daffodils in bloom, and an artist's rendition of the clan badge. I was still looking at the map when Pete began to laugh. "Hey, look what they're selling."

In front of the three people manning the table was a stack of my books. I said, "Oh, my God..."

Pete said, "You should have done your signing event here."

One of the women behind the table spotted me. "Hello! Aren't you..."

I said, "Yes, ma'am. Jeremy Brodie. I go by Jamie."

Her accent was American. "We're so glad you're here! You've come a long way."

I said, "Yes, ma'am. Where are you from?"

"Suburban Chicago. I understand you're having a book signing later in the week?"

"Yes, on Wednesday."

"That's _wonderful_. You're a librarian, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll be sure to stop by with my copy to be signed." She beamed at Pete. "And unless I miss my guess, this must be the man you mentioned in the acknowledgements?"

Pete held out his hand. "Pete Ferguson. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, it's my pleasure." She shook Pete's hand, then waved at the crowd. "You know, all these people here - these are the folks whom your book is about. All descended from the younger sons and the daughters of the clan chiefs."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why don't you stop by on Monday or Tuesday? It won't be as busy then. We'd love to talk to you about the book."

"Sure. We'll see you later."

As we walked away, Pete snickered. "You have a fan."

"Yeah, a big enough fan that she even knew who you were. That's a little creepy."

"I think it's sweet."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

"No, really. Think about it. The people who were behind the clan gathering... Clan Brodie is their hobby. Like you play rugby, like we hike, this is what they do with their spare time. They're into the clan. Of course your book is important to them."

"Yeah, okay, I see your point."

The next booth belonged to the National Trust gift shop, the same one that operated at the castle. The same woman who'd sold Val her t-shirts was behind the table, and she greeted us. "Enjoying the gathering so far?"

Pete said, "We sure are. This is terrific."

"Aye." The woman raised her eyebrows, giving us a significant look. "We hope the American Brodies will make this an annual event."

I grinned. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Pete checked his watch. "Hey, it's almost time for the games to start. We should go."

"Right." We said goodbye to the gift shop lady and headed for the food tents. We bought pints of beer first, then located a stand with fish and chips. We dressed them with vinegar and ketchup then, carefully balancing everything, headed for the stands.

My family was already there, halfway through meals of their own. Fortunately, they'd saved seats for us. We managed to join them without spilling anything. I said, "Is it almost time for Kevin's preliminary?"

Kristen said, "Yep. Should be starting in just a few minutes."

By the time we'd finished eating, the contestants were lining up for the caber toss competition. Kevin was near the back of the line. He was definitely the tallest person there, and there were only a couple of guys there with broader shoulders.

It was soon apparent that size didn't necessarily determine the accuracy of the caber toss. One of the best competitors was a relatively small but muscular guy, who didn't waste time trying to balance the caber, but launched it almost immediately after picking it up. A couple of the worst competitors were big guys, but slightly older with beer guts.

There was some excitement in the stands when, as Pete had feared, the wind caught one guy's kilt and flipped it up as he was trying to balance the caber. In his defense, he was able to ignore the wolf whistles and catcalls long enough to toss the caber - although it didn't go far and landed at a terrible angle. He calmly flipped his kilt back down over his bare ass, and bowed to the crowd with a flourish.

He walked off to wild applause.

When Kevin's turn came, he hoisted the caber with minimal difficulty, took a couple of steps and made his toss. It flipped nicely, and landed at about a 10:00 position.

An excellent first effort. We clapped and hollered; the rest of the audience cheered as well.

The competitors went through five rounds. At the end, the top five went on to the next round.

The top five included Kevin. We cheered and stomped our feet on the bleachers. He shot us a wry look that said, "Cut that out," and signaled to us that he was going to seek refreshment.

He returned shortly with the same meal we'd had, fish and chips and a beer, and we settled in to watch the second of the preliminary rounds of the caber toss.

As we did, we all told what we'd learned that morning. Pete and I recounted our conversation with Roddy Simpson. Kristen said, "We talked to a couple of intriguing people. One was Jane Burgess, who's the wife of the farmer who discovered Calum's body. She kept going on about the ghost of Lady Margaret, come to avenge the burning of the castle and the curse put on the Brodies by the Gordons."

I asked, "What connection does she have to Brodies or Gordons?"

Claudia said, "None that we could tell. I asked her about her family history, acting like we were looking for long-lost relatives. She said her people are MacPhersons and Shaws."

Dad said, "So what's her interest in the ghost and all that?"

Val said, "She seemed to me to be the type of person who still believes that aliens cause crop circles. A reader of tabloids."

Kristen said, "She talked to us because we were connected to the 'excitement,' as she called it. Wanted us to know that she thought Lady Margaret's ghost had done a wonderful thing."

Val said, "The other woman we talked to was a descendant of Lady Margaret, through her son James and his daughter Louisa. She lives in Inverness but grew up here, and had a lot to say about how thrilled she was that Calum Gordon was dead."

Kevin said, "You'd think if she'd known anything, she'd be a bit more close-mouthed."

Claudia said, "I didn't get the impression that she knew anything. She saw Kristen and Val's Brodie kilts and asked who we were, and when she found out, she wanted us to know how happy she was for us, that Calum was finally dead."

Pete asked, "What was her name?"

Kristen said, "Amanda Davidson. Said her maiden name was Cotton. Jamie, does that fit with what you know of the family tree?"

I said, "Yeah. Louisa Brodie married a guy named Hugh Cotton. She must be legit."

Claudia said, "We overheard a lot of other conversations about the spontaneous combustion theory. Apparently that idea has really taken hold of everyone's imaginations."

Kevin scoffed at that. "I wonder if they really believe that?"

Pete added, "Or...is the whole town involved in a coverup?"

The second round of caber toss preliminaries ended, and Kevin had identified a young, brawny guy who he expected to be his primary competitor. Dad said, "What's everyone up for now?"

Jeff said, "I want to go back to the farm show."

Val said, "I'll go with you. Is anyone else interested?"

I said, "Pete, we're going to be farming in the desert before long. Want to see how it's done in a land with plenty of rain?"

He laughed. "Sure, why not?"

Kevin and Kristen hadn't had a chance to visit the rest of the tents at the gathering, so they headed off toward the shopping and exhibits. We struck out from the park to the farm show area, in an area north of the A96, bounded by the railroad tracks and Mosset Burn.

Pete wanted to raise chickens eventually on our property, so we went first to the chicken exhibits. The chickens in question were being judged today, so they were primped within an inch of their lives. Some of them were even sporting little tartan ribbons.

We spoke to every chicken breeder there and picked up some general pointers for chicken care and well-being, but - understandably - none of the breeds here were suited for life in the desert. As we left the farmers, I asked Pete, "Have you done any research into what breeds of chickens do thrive in the desert?"

"Just preliminary stuff." Pete had been reading everything he could get his hands on about self-sufficient, off the grid living in the desert. "When it gets closer to the time that we're going to live there permanently, I'll contact the New Mexico extension agent. They'll have the best information."

I said, glancing behind me as we walked, "None of the farmers seem too interested in gossip. We haven't heard one word about curses or ghosts or spontaneous human combustion."

"No. Thank _God_."

We caught up with Jeff and Val, who were admiring a pair of Clydesdales grazing beside their trailer. Jeff introduced us to their owner, a man named Brian Taylor, and we stroked the horses' soft noses. I asked Jeff, "Are the horses you've bought Clydesdales?"

"No, they're Percherons. Better suited for warm weather."

We briefly discussed the horses with Taylor, then moved on to where there were two Percherons. One was noisily slurping out of a bucket; the other was submitting to having its mane brushed. I asked, "What color are yours going to be?"

Val said, "Light dappled gray. They're gorgeous. Wait 'til you meet them."

The farmer grinned. "Aye. Percherons are the loveliest of the breeds, in my opinion."

Jeff introduced us to this fellow, named Andrew Thompson. Pete asked, "Are you a wet or dry Thompson?"

He laughed. "Wet."

Pete grinned. "My mother was a dry Thomson."

Val said, "What are you talking about?"

Pete said, "A dry Thomson has no P."

Jeff groaned.

After walking through the rest of the farm displays, we strolled back into town. We'd agreed to meet at the park at 5:00 to decide what to do about dinner. When we passed through the entrance, showing our wristbands, we found Dad and Claudia not far away, sitting on the ground, sorting through purchases. I asked, "Where are Kevin and Kristen?"

Dad said, "We haven't seen them for a while."

Pete checked his watch. "It's only 4:40. They'll be back on time."

At 4:59, we spotted Kevin and Kristen strolling in our direction, also laden with purchases. I hoped Kristen and Claudia hadn't both bought a lot of soap, since I'd bought mine with the idea of giving it to them - as well as Val and Liz Nguyen, my library bestie back home - as stocking stuffers. Although they probably wouldn't mind having more.

Kevin and Kristen sat down with us. Kevin said, "We've been having a chat with Constable Roddy Simpson. D.I. Graham has been pissing off everyone in town, wandering around the gathering, asking questions. Roddy believes that people are starting to flat-out lie to Graham, and that worries him."

Pete asked, "Do you think he'll catch up a lot of people for obstruction of justice?"

"It depends on how this all plays out, I guess." Kevin sighed. "The toxicology results came back from Calum Gordon's autopsy, and they did show large amounts of sedative in his system. Chloral hydrate, to be specific."

Claudia said, "Also known as knockout drops. It's a liquid, easily added to a drink."

Kevin said, "Yup. Once Calum was unconscious, the killers would simply bundle him up and cart him away."

Pete asked, "Any other forensic evidence of interest?"

Kevin shook his head. "The scene of crime investigators covered every inch of the way between Calum's trailer and the spot where he was found, and out to about 500 yards surrounding. They found nothing. Where the ghost was spotted, though, they did find evidence of fire extinguisher foam having been sprayed in a concentrated area."

I said, "Nothing else was left behind, huh?"

"Nope. Whoever these people were, they picked up after themselves very carefully."

Kristen said, "I told Roddy about the encounters that Val, Claudia, and I had this morning with Jane Burgess and the other woman. He was more interested in what Jane had to say. Or what she didn't say."

Pete asked, "Had he questioned her before?"

"No. He says Graham and Kennedy did that."

I said, "She wouldn't tell them crap."

Jeff exhaled noisily. "Good _God_. Is this what it's like to be with you guys _all_ the time?"

Val laughed. I said, "Not all the time. Just, you know, occasionally."

The booths in the park were beginning to close for the night. We reckoned that all of the restaurants in town would be packed, so we decided to go back to the castle for a homemade dinner. Once back at the castle, Pete and Val made an enormous salad with chicken, and Claudia created a vinaigrette dressing. We tucked in hungrily and consumed every bite, then treated ourselves to ice cream for dessert.

Dad and Claudia claimed fatigue, and disappeared into their own room. The rest of us gathered in the sitting room. Jeff, Pete and Val talked chickens for a while, and Kevin and Kristen discussed the intricacies of the caber toss. I threw a load of towels into the washing machine, then went upstairs to retrieve a book I'd brought and was soon immersed.

In an hour or so, we'd consumed another bottle of whiskey - Glenfiddich, this time, which someone had procured at some point during the day - and bid each other goodnight. Jeff and Val got in and out of our bathroom quickly. I was sorting dirty clothes and hanging up our kilts properly. "Pete, go ahead to the bathroom first."

"Um - I thought you might come with me."

I turned to look at him; he was wearing an open bathrobe, an evil grin, and nothing else. I laughed. "What have you got in mind?"

"I have an idea about that bathtub."

"Oooookay." I was dubious. The tub in our bathroom, like many other British tubs, was narrow and deep, and didn't have any traction stickers on the bottom. But I was game to see what he had planned. I shucked my clothes, tugged my robe over my shoulders, and followed him.

Pete ran a warm bath while we warmed each other up. When the tub was full I said, "Show me what we're gonna do here."

He climbed into the tub and sat at one end. "Come on in. I figure if you straddle me, your equipment might be at the right height."

I snorted. "Okie dokie."

Our first problem was the narrowness of the tub. With my knees on either side of Pete's legs, my calves and his thighs were in parallel. There wasn't enough width to accommodate all those legs. Pete said, "Huh."

I said, "Cross your legs."

"But then..."

"Got a better idea?"

He frowned. "Not at the moment."

He crossed his legs, and my knees fit. However, the height differential between my groin and Pete's mouth was problematic. I said, "You've got to slouch down a little."

"Um - okay." He slipped a couple of inches lower...then lost his traction and slid all the way under me, winding up completely underwater.

He came up spluttering. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. He hissed, " _Shh!_ Everyone will know what we're doing in here."

"We're not doing _anything_ in here yet. That's the _problem_."

He pondered our dilemma for a moment. "Okay, what if I'm just above the waterline, and you sort of hover over me?"

" _Hover_ over you? What am I, a helicopter?"

"Just shut up and try it."

"You're _so_ romantic."

Pete slipped into the water to his neck, hanging onto the sides of the tub to prevent a repeat performance of his impromptu baptism. I leaned over the end of the tub, attempting to hover, and immediately realized that I had nothing to hold onto, just as my knees slipped and I crashed down onto Pete, submerging him again, and forcefully whacking my forehead on the rim of the tub. " _Fuck! Ow! Goddammit! Shit!!_ "

Pete struggled to free himself from underneath me, twisting to the side, which removed my support and sent me plunging into the water. A second later I felt Pete's hands reach under my shoulders and haul me up. I took a breath, just as his hands slipped and I crashed head first into the rim of the tub again, striking my forehead in precisely the same spot as before.

This time the blow produced tears in addition to swearing. I shoved Pete away from me and sat up, half crying, half mad. "Jesus fucking _Christ_. Let me out of this goddamn tub!"

Pete moved in a way that sent water sloshing out of the tub. I gripped the sides with my hands, stepped on some part of him - at this point, I didn't care if it was his leg, arm, face, or dick - and managed to clamber out. Pete sat up, swearing - maybe I had stepped on his dick - then stopped when he saw my face. "Oh, _honey_. You're bleeding."

"No shit." I could feel the blood running down my forehead. I moved to the mirror, to see a rapidly swelling lump crowned by a split in the skin. "Get me something to stop the bleeding. And ice."

Pete threw his bathrobe on and squelched away. He returned nearly immediately with a clean undershirt of his own - wise choice - then headed to the mini-kitchen on the floor below us for ice. When he returned with cubes wrapped in a dish towel, I'd managed to slow the bleeding somewhat. I said, "I need a bandage. They're in my toiletries kit. Get one of the bigger ones."

He disappeared to obey. I continued to hold pressure on my wound, muttering to myself. I heard footsteps at the door and turned, but it was Kevin, not Pete. He said, "What the hell's going on?"

"Pete had the idea that we could perform gymnastics in the tub. It didn't work."

"In the bathtub? Seriously?"

I wasn't in the mood to defend our - in hindsight - lousy decision. "Shut up."

"Let me see."

I removed the t-shirt so that Kevin could inspect my wound. He grunted. "You'll live."

"Gee, thanks, doc."

Pete appeared with a choice of bandage sizes. I picked the one I wanted and Kevin - the only one in the room with steady hands - applied it, then handed me the ice. "There."

I held the compress against my head, wincing with the pain. "Ow. God _damn_ it."

Pete was contrite. "I'm so sorry, hon. I thought it would work."

Kevin said, "For God's sake. What _is_ it with you two and having to have sex in water?"

Pete blushed. I said, "We don't _have_ to. It's a preference. One that will be foregone for the rest of this vacation, for _your_ information, Pete Ferguson."

"I _said_ I was sorry."

Kevin said, "You know, your bedroom is identical to ours in that it has a _perfectly good floor_. No headboard thumping, no bed frame squeaking. I suggest you try it out."

I said, "Maybe we will, once I recover from this concussion."

Kevin left, laughing. To report to Kristen, no doubt. Pete helped me into my bathrobe while I held the ice against my head. In our room, I lowered the cold pack long enough to get into a t-shirt and pajama pants and take some Tylenol, then lay down and worked with pillows until the compress was balanced against my head without me having to hold them there.

When Pete got into bed, the ice fell off, onto the floor. I groaned. "For fuck's _sake_."

"I'll get it." He scrambled back out of bed and retrieved the ice from the floor beside me, repacking it into its towel. This time, I waited until he was settled, then reapplied the ice.

I said, "Don't move."

"I won't. Seriously, Jamie, I'm really sorry."

"I know." I patted his hand magnanimously. "I forgive you. For penance, in the morning, you'll be the one to tell my dad what happened."

### Monday

I didn't sleep well that night. I woke up several times, my head throbbing, to find the towel warm against my skin. I didn't feel any reluctance at those times to do what I did: wake Pete up and ask him - as nicely as I could with my head splitting - to fetch something else frozen for me. To his credit, he complied with grace and without complaint.

I woke the next morning to find Pete hovering over me anxiously. He said, "Oh, thank God. I was afraid you had a concussion and wouldn't wake up."

I grunted and allowed him to pull me to a sitting position, which caused my head to feel as if it might simply explode. "I don't think I have a concussion. It just hurts like fuck."

He went to procure more Tylenol. I peeled off the bandage and inspected the wound in the mirror. This morning it appeared on the surface like no more than a deep scrape. The coloration wasn't bad so far; kind of a dusky violet that hinted of deeper colors to come.

The swelling was the most impressive thing about it. My eye itself wasn't swollen, but there was a deep crease above my eyelid that hadn't been there before. I looked like someone who could easily audition for a remake of Frankenstein.

Pete returned with Tylenol and a glass of water. I downed two and pulled my bathrobe on over my t-shirt and pajamas. "All right. Let's go downstairs and get this over with."

I could already smell coffee and frying potatoes. When I walked into the kitchen, Pete behind me, my dad turned from the range and gasped. "Holy _hell_ , sport! What _happened_ to you?"

I stepped aside and gestured to Pete, who said, "Um. Er. He slipped in the bathtub. It was entirely my fault. We were trying to take a bath together."

Kevin, sitting at the small kitchen table, was doing his best not to laugh. He wasn't entirely succeeding. Claudia, who was making toast, turned to inspect my booboo. "Oh, poor thing. Did you ice it?"

"As much as I could through the night."

Val was scrambling eggs; she handed the spatula to Jeff and came to inspect my head. "Impressive."

Kristen snickered. I said, "Thanks so much."

Jeff said, "Trying to take a bath together?"

Pete glared at Jeff. " _Yes_. That was _exactly_ what we were doing."

Kevin suppressed a snort.

The plan for today was a hike. Our intention was to complete the entire Moray Coast Trail this week; the others would do the first segment, from Forres to Burghead, today then take the bus back from Burghead to town. The trail started in the center of town, so we'd all drive to town together.

I had already planned to take Moira Fraser to tea mid-morning, to talk to her about the book signing - coming up on Wednesday - and to see what else she might have heard about Calum Gordon's death. If anything.

As we ate Pete asked me, "Do you want me to come with you to see Moira?"

"You're supposed to go hiking."

"I know, but...you might need something."

I had to admit, with my head still throbbing... "A gofer might come in handy."

Kristen said, "You can consider it part of your penance for causing Jamie's accident."

Pete blushed; Kevin, Jeff, and Dad all snickered.

Greaaaaaat.

After breakfast, Dad and Claudia magnanimously offered me the use of their shower. I accepted with alacrity.

As we went upstairs Pete said, "We have access to the shower..."

I snorted. "What you mean _we_ , white man? I am showering _alone_ , thank you very much."

"But..."

I held up a finger. " _No_."

He pouted. I said, "Consider this another segment of your apology."

Dad, Claudia, Jeff and Val went on into town. Kevin and Kristen waited for us. I took my time in the shower, luxuriating in the spray, thoroughly washing my hair, wincing when the soap ran across my scraped forehead.

I felt better afterward. Baths really didn't cut it for me; I never felt thoroughly clean until I'd had a shower.

I pulled on jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater, and we met Kevin and Kristen downstairs. When we met up with the others, Kevin and Kristen hoisted their backpacks and traipsed off.

I was jealous. I'd really wanted to hike the coastal trail again, although I'd done it years ago with Ethan.

Oh well. There were three more sections to hike after today's.

On our way down High Street, we saw that Moira had already been busy. Every shop front we passed displayed a poster advertising my book signing on Wednesday afternoon. The photo of me from my book cover flap - taken by Pete last summer during my sabbatical with Brodie Castle in the background - smiled out from every window.

Pete thought it was funny. I found it deeply unsettling.

We met Moira at the Time Out Cafe, on High Street a couple of blocks from the Town Hall. She was already there with a pot of tea waiting for us. We ordered bacon butties and joined her at the table. She gasped when she saw my head. "Och, _look_ at ye! Whatever happened?"

"I slipped in the tub. It's one of those big old-fashioned ones, you know."

"Aye." She shook her head in commiseration. "We've put in a modern bathroom, Scott and I. We went to the States on holiday a few years ago, and decided that bathrooms are one thing that you do far better than the Scots."

I grinned. "Can't argue with that. How are the plans for the book signing progressing?"

"Och, marvelously." She reached to a large tote bag hanging from the back of her chair, and produced a rolled up tube held by a rubber band. "Here's the poster. We've hung them all over town."

Pete said, "We've seen them. They've come out well."

"Aye. The print shop does a wonderful job." She rolled the poster and deposited it back into her bag. "All the town's talking about the signing."

"How's it going to work?"

Moira sipped her tea. "Now, this is subject to your approval, of course. But we thought that we'd bring most of the stock of your books over from the bookstore. Brenda will be there; she'll be able to do sales at the table. Deirdre will be at the store in case anyone comes by there to buy a book. If you want to have someone with you, to open the books to the right page, that might be a good idea."

Pete said, "Ask Kristen. She'd love it."

Indeed she would. Moira said, "Perfect. A lot of people in town already own the book, so there will be a mix of current and new owners. We'll keep the traffic moving; our library volunteers will be stationed at the door and at points along the way. One or two of the town councillors will drop in at times, I'm sure. And the photographer for the local paper will stop by."

We hashed out a few more details. Moira requested that I wear my Brodie kilt; I agreed. She said, "There's a sign in the park, too, with a copy of the poster. We hope that people will come over from the gathering."

"Have you given a poster to the Brodie clan tent? They had several copies of my book on display."

Moira patted the rolled-up poster in her bag. "This one is bound for there."

We chatted for a few minutes more about the signing and the book, and ordered another pot of tea. I said, "Let's change the subject. Calum Gordon."

She wrinkled her nose. "Och. Why d'ye want to talk about _him?_ "

I lowered my voice. "Because the Glasgow cops are getting nowhere, and Roddy Simpson isn't doing much better."

Moira crossed her arms and regarded us. "No one will ever confess, you know."

"That doesn't surprise me. And I doubt that there will ever be enough evidence to do anything about it. But Roddy would like to know who's responsible. And so would we."

Moira said, "I doona know who's responsible. I truly do not. But... I've heard things."

"How about this? We'll ask you questions, and you can say yes, no, or no comment."

She huffed a laugh. "That'll do."

I asked, "Do any of the things you've heard involve someone connected with the fire station?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No comment."

I figured that was as good as a yes. "Do any of the things you've heard involve Farmer Burgess, who found the body?"

She looked surprised at that. "Nae. Why d'ye ask?"

Pete said, "The police always suspect the person who called in the discovery of a body."

Moira shook her head. "I doona know why Burgess would be involved. He's always found Calum a nuisance, living there practically on his land, and has accused him a few times of stealing eggs or chickens. But nowt worth murdering for."

I thought that stealing chickens was as worth murdering for as stealing a pair of sneakers at home. But this was the United Kingdom. It was hard to imagine someone sentencing Calum Gordon to the fiery death he'd suffered for stealing a chicken.

I asked, "Do any of the things you've heard involve David Macalister, who saw the supposed ghost from his bedroom window?"

Moira raised an eyebrow. "Aye, I've heard some speculation there. David hasn't been back to town for years. Odd that he'd come now."

I said, "But there hasn't been a Brodie clan gathering here for years, either. And he is descended from Lady Margaret Duff."

"True. It could be coincidence, I suppose." But Moira didn't look convinced.

Pete asked, "Who are those that have the worst grudges against Calum Gordon?"

Moira sighed. "Och, so many. Calum caused so much mischief in his youth. Even when he was a boy. He killed a classmate's pet dog once, you know."

I said, "We heard. What else did he do?"

"There was an incident once." Moira looked into the distance, remembering. "I doona remember who was involved in this. I truly don't. If Roddy was to ask the right people, though, he'd find out. This was when Calum was - oh, maybe, twelve? Just the age where the boys were startin' to notice the girls."

I dreaded what we might hear. "What happened?"

"There was a boy in Calum's class who had a crush on one of the girls. I doona know exactly how it happened, but somehow Calum got into a scuffle with the other boy in front of the girls, and pulled the boy's trousers down in front of everyone. You can imagine, at that age, how humiliating that would be. The girls all laughed and pointed. The girl he liked joined in."

Pete groaned. I shook my head. "God. How _awful_. That's the kind of thing that would haunt you for the rest of your life. Can you remember if it's someone who's still here in town?"

Moira shook her head. "I'm sorry. I cannae remember. I was just enough younger than Calum's class that I didnae have any connection to it. Brenda Cumming might remember."

Brenda was the book shop owner. I said, "Well, she and I will have a chance to chat at the signing. I'll ask her. What else are you hearing?"

Moira shrugged. "Nothing specific. A lot of rumor."

I said, "But some of it involves someone who is or was a firefighter."

She lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-smile. "No comment."

We accompanied Moira to the Brodie clan tent, and chatted for a while with the president of Clan Brodie of the Americas. When we left the Brodie tent, we wandered among the booths again. I said to Pete, "Let me think out loud about the murder for a minute."

"Okay."

I said, keeping my voice low, "Let's recap. We have Farmer Burgess, who discovered the body, but who Moira doubts was involved with the crime. We have David Macalister, who came back to town for the gathering but didn't stay, and everyone seems to think that's odd. We have at least one person, maybe two, who are or were involved with the fire department. We have Angus Grant, who saw the faux ghost, but may or may not have had anything else to do with the crime. And we have at least two someones in town who have probably hated Calum Gordon for years, far more deeply than anyone else in town. One because his dog was killed, one because he was humiliated at school. But we don't know who those two someones are."

Pete said, "I wonder if Roddy Simpson is on duty here in the park somewhere?"

We went looking for Roddy, and found him near the bus stop across from the primary school. His expression brightened when he spotted us. "Och, there's the auxiliary polis. Have ye learned anything else?"

I repeated the summary that I'd given Pete a few minutes ago. Roddy listened then said, "I agree with Moira. I doubt that Burgess had anything to do with Calum's death. He's a religious man."

I asked, "What about David Macalister?"

Roddy shrugged. "Gone home, hasn't he? I've given his name to the Glesgae polis. We'll see what they do wi' it."

Pete said, "What about Angus Grant? I hope he wasn't involved, but it's awfully coincidental that he saw the ghost at just the right time."

"Aye. I think, someday, that Angus will say who told him to look out that window."

I said, "Someday?"

"Aye. After whoever it was has passed on."

"You don't think this was a young man's crime?"

"Nae. Why would they? And this was no prank. If young ones wanted Calum dead, they'd simply have burned his caravan down around him. Nae, I believe that this was done by Calum's contemporaries."

Pete said, "He killed someone's dog, and humiliated someone in the playground at school once. Those are two powerful motives for revenge."

Roddy nodded. "Aye. I've heard those two stories mentioned as well. But no one's memory seems up to telling me who those things happened to."

I said, "And then there's the fire department connection."

"Aye." Roddy scratched his nose. "I'm thinking those are retired firefighters. All the current ones are young men, and I know them all. I doona believe they'd risk their careers like that. But retired fellows - they'd still know how to pull that off."

"It's possible that they didn't even know what was going on, on the other side of Brodie Castle property. Maybe two of their mates just told them that they needed a distraction. Not why."

Pete said, "They'd figure out pretty quick though, the next morning, why that distraction was needed."

Roddy said, "Aye. But they're not discussing it, are they?"

I asked, "What's Detective Graham doing?"

"Questioning everyone in town again." Roddy shook his head in disgust. "He'll not get anywhere wi' that."

Pete said, "A small town is going to protect its own, even if no one is quite sure who it is that they're protecting."

Roddy smiled. "Aye."

I asked, "What now?"

Roddy shrugged. "I cannae officially make a move without Graham lookin' over my shoulder. One of these days, I'll ken who killed Calum. But I doona think it'll be any time soon."

"We'll keep our ears open. Someone may let something drop without meaning to."

We ate bangers and mash from a food truck for lunch, and wandered over to the stands to watch the games for a while and drink a pint. When we were seated Pete asked, "How's your head?"

"Still throbbing at a low level. Which reminds me." I pulled the packet of Tylenol from my pocket and took two more.

He studied me. "It's turning darker purple."

"I'm not surprised."

He checked his watch. "When will the rest of the family be back?"

"That hike takes about four hours for experienced hikers, then they've got to catch a bus back to town. So - probably another hour or so. Kevin will text me when they're back in town."

"Have you heard from Fiona yet?"

"Oh!" I'd forgotten to check email; I must finally be in full vacation mode. "Let me see."

When I checked my phone, I found that, indeed, Fiona had emailed. "Yes, here's a message from her."

"What's it say?"

I read to Pete from the screen.

Hello Jamie

I found the records from the RAF about your uncle's capture of the German spy. It happened just as you'd been told. I've attached the reports and letters. Your uncle had a commendation from the RAF for his service.

There's absolutely nothing else to indicate that he had contact with any Germans. Except for the few days he spent in Forres, he was isolated up at Dunnet Head working on the radar. No chance to see much of anyone.

That D.S. Kennedy showed up first thing this morning, the bastard. I ran the tests for him on the so-called documents that your dead man had in his caravan, and of course the paper and ink are all current manufacture. Nothing old about them. Kennedy wasn't happy with the results. I think he wanted to arrest all of you for Calum's murder and be done with it. He didn't even thank us, the rude git.

Thank you again for hosting Finn and me over the weekend! It was a grand time.

Let me know what happens with the murder case.

Cheers

Fiona

Pete was laughing at Fiona's description of Kennedy. "What an asshole. He can't _possibly_ think that we had anything to do with Calum's murder."

"He probably doesn't care whether we did or not. He just wants to make an arrest so he can go home."

"Can't say that I blame him, although as detective work goes, that's a pretty shitty attitude."

"D.S. Kennedy didn't impress me as a man with a sunny outlook on life."

Pete snorted. "No, he did not."

We stayed at the field for a while, watching the games. Another round of heats for the caber toss was completed, and no one there looked as if they'd be any competition for Kevin.

Kevin himself texted me at about 3:30. _We're back. Where are you?_

Watching the games, but we've been here a while. We're ready to go home if you are.

Yeah, we're all kinda wiped. Meet you back at the cars?

_Sounds good_.

We left the park and strolled across the field to the farm show, where we'd parked. When we got there the others were already there. Dad asked, "How's your head?"

"Diminished to a dull roar. A couple of pints have helped."

Kristen asked, "How are the plans for the book signing?"

"All set. There are posters all over town. Oh, and Moira said I could have a helper to open the books to the right page and whatever else needs done. You and Pete want to fight over who gets that job?"

Pete laughed. "I'll let the librarian sit with you in the library, if she wants to."

Kristen brightened. "Hell, yeah! I wouldn't miss it."

We piled into the cars and headed back to the castle. Once there, the others all headed for the bathrooms while Pete began scrounging in the kitchen for something to make for dinner. We ended up eating sandwiches with ham and local cheese, spread with salad cream - a curiosity to the rest of my family, who pronounced it ideal for sandwiches but agreed that they didn't think it would do for salads.

We spent the rest of the evening in quiet pursuits. I worked on transcribing the rest of the interviews with Fiona's relatives, and researching the stories they'd told me. The others described the hike, a gorgeous walk along the coast, and Claudia showed the photos she'd taken.

Tomorrow we had planned to complete the second section of the hike, from Burghead to Lossiemouth. I didn't intend to miss another hike, and hoped that my head would be up to the challenge.

In spite of my lack of physical activity during the day, it didn't take long for me to start to feel sleepy. It had to be thanks to the sleepless night I'd had the night before. The others, of course, were happily exhausted, and it didn't take long for them to say goodnight and wend their ways upstairs - or, in the case of my dad and Claudia, down the hall.

I wrapped up another transcription - I only had a few left - and Pete and I went upstairs. After we brushed our teeth and washed our faces, I crawled gratefully into bed with a happy groan. "Unnhhh. I hope I sleep better tonight."

Pete got into bed beside me, but remained sitting up. "Yeah, me too."

I said, "I'm sorry I kept waking you up."

"It's okay. You needed help." He gingerly brushed my hair off my forehead to see the bruise, which was now a lovely dark grape color. "How does it feel?"

"Not bad. I'm not going to need any more Tylenol."

"It'll look worse than it feels from now on."

"Yeah, as long as I don't bump it again."

"You need a helmet."

I snorted. He leaned down to kiss me, then lifted the Highlander romance from his bedside table.

I said, "Still reading that?"

"Yeah. It's not bad."

"These guys haven't tried to have sex on a sink?"

He laughed, remembering the first male-male romance we'd read, wherein the couple had attempted some truly bizarre sexual positions. "Not yet. So far, it's all surreptitious under the kilt action. It is a historical, so..."

"So there's not much opportunity for hanky panky."

"No."

"It's not a tragedy, is it? Are they going to have to marry women they don't love?"

"The threat is hanging over them. We'll see how it ends."

"Is the history correct?"

"Beats me. Although there's nothing happening so far that seems out of the realm of possibility."

"Mm. Good." I was fading fast.

He chuckled and kissed me again. "G'night, hon. I love you."

"Love you too." I was asleep almost as soon as I got the words out.

### Tuesday

I slept better that night, only briefly waking up a couple of times when I rolled to my left, and my swollen, bruised forehead brushed against the pillow. I was afraid that Pete would fling out an arm and whack me in the head in his sleep - he'd been known to do that - but fortunately he didn't.

I slept longer than I had planned. When I woke up, Pete was gone. The scents of bacon and coffee were wafting up the stairs. I pulled my bathrobe over my pajamas and t-shirt and padded downstairs.

The kitchen was a beehive of activity. Dad and Val were making pancakes and bacon for breakfast; Pete and Claudia were assembling packets of sandwiches, fruit, nuts, and chocolate for our hike. Kevin and Jeff weren't in sight; maybe they were still in their respective bathrooms. Dad said, "Hey, sport, how's the head?"

"Better."

Claudia said, "Do you want to use our shower again?"

"Yes, please." Maybe I could convert this injury into shower privileges for the rest of our stay.

Pete handed me a mug of tea, and I carried it to Dad and Claudia's room, then went to the second floor to retrieve my clothes and toiletries. After a thoroughly enjoyable hot shower I dressed, drained my tea, and went downstairs to eat.

Dad handed me a plate with a stack of pancakes and bacon, and I sat beside Pete at the table. He sniffed me. "You smell good."

"Yeah, there's scented shower gel in Dad and Claudia's bathroom."

He gave me a sly smile. "Is there room for two in that shower?"

I groaned. "Will you _give up_ on the shower already? And it's my _dad's_ shower. _Forget_ it."

Once the kitchen was clean, we loaded our backpacks and piled into the cars. Today we had to drive to Elgin to park, then take the bus to Burghead. We were walking to Lossiemouth, from which we'd take the bus back to Elgin when we were done.

It was a gorgeous day to hike - cool, but mostly sunny, with high white clouds occasionally blocking the sun. The path led us right along the coast, and the sun sparkled on the North Sea, which was unusually calm. We ate lunch in the shadow of the Covesea Skerries Lighthouse, just west of the Moray Golf Club. After we'd eaten we gathered our recyclables and struck out toward Lossiemouth. Our path led along the coast between the golf club and the sea; to our right, we could see golfers teeing off.

By the time we got back to the castle, it was mid-afternoon. As we exited the car I spotted Angus Grant in the distance on a mowing tractor. He waved; I waved back.

We cleaned up and changed clothes with the intention of going into town for dinner, planning to go to the park and eat from the food vendors there. But in the parking lot, we were greeted by D.I. Graham and D.S. Kennedy, climbing out of their vehicle.

Jeff muttered, "Oh, for fuck's sake. What now?"

But the Glasgow cops weren't looking for us. Graham nodded to Dad. "We're in search of Angus Grant. Have ye seen him about the castle? He's not at home."

In the distance I could hear the drone of the tractor engine, although I couldn't see Angus. I said, "I think he's mowing the property."

Graham said to Kennedy, "Stay here." He disappeared around the end of the building and I heard him shout, "Oi! Grant!"

I didn't think Angus would hear him, but the tractor must have been pointed in the right direction. I heard the droning sound approach, then Angus appeared at the end of the grass and parked the tractor. He climbed off, smiling. "Aye, Inspector, what can I do for ye?"

Graham crossed his arms. "You can tell me who asked you to glance oot your bedroom window on the night o' Calum Gordon's death."

Either Angus was telling the truth, or he was a hell of an actor. His surprise looked genuine to me. "What are ye on about, Inspector? No one said anything about that. I was up to the loo, like I am two or three times every night. Ask me doctor."

We all kept our mouths shut. Graham said, "I doona believe you. It's too much coincidence, you and Mrs. Stratton here seeing the same thing at the same time."

Angus shrugged. "I cannae explain that. I can only tell ye what happened."

Kennedy pointed a stubby finger in Angus's face. "We're watchin' you, Mr. Grant."

Angus seemed supremely unconcerned. "Aye, that's fine. Watch away."

Kennedy scowled. Graham nudged him, and the two returned to their car and drove away.

Angus said, "Ye'd think they'd have better things to do wi' their time." He said goodbye to us and went back to his tractor.

As we climbed into our cars, I thought that Graham and Kennedy were starting to put together the same pieces that we were.

By the time we got into town, the number of people in the park was dropping off. We scattered to our favorite food vendors then gathered to eat at the edge of the park, not far from the entrance.

We were about halfway through our meal when we were joined by Roddy Simpson. "Good evenin'. I didna see ye in town today."

Kevin said, "We went hiking on the Moray Coast Trail for most of the day. Just before we came here, Graham and Kennedy came to the castle to question Angus Grant again."

Roddy raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"They wanted to know who told Angus to look out his window on the night of Calum Gordon's death."

Roddy nodded. "Aye, I'm no' surprised. They're startin' to think that tale's a bit odd."

I said, "Which it is. But Angus was either telling the truth, or he's a great actor."

Roddy grinned. "I'll no' speculate on that. It doesna matter what Graham and Kennedy might believe, though. Unless someone else tells a different story, there's no proof at all."

Kevin lowered his voice and asked, "Is there any new information on who might have staged the fire?"

Roddy raised an eyebrow. "There's another odd thing. Seems there's an old fire suit missing from the station."

Kevin's expression mirrored Roddy's. "No kidding."

"T'was one that was set aside to be replaced, but hadnae been disposed of yet. It wasnae discovered as missing until this morning, when the station commander was doing his weekly equipment inspection."

Pete asked, "Who had access to that?"

Roddy snorted. "Too many. The old suits were hanging on hooks by the rear door of the station. Anyone could have nicked it with no one the wiser."

I asked, "The suit wasn't too old to use? It was still fire safe?"

"Aye, safe enough for what it was used for. Assuming that's what it was used for."

Kevin asked, "Do Graham and Kennedy know about that?"

Roddy's expression was unreadable. "No' to my knowledge."

On the way back to our cars we wandered down High Street. The library was still open; I stuck my head in the door, and was spotted by Moira, who waved me in. "Have a look. We're ready for tomorrow."

Two tables with white cloths draped over them were lined up, perpendicular to the entrance. The table closer to the door had several short stacks of my books, ready for purchase. I assumed the two chairs there would be used by Moira herself and by Brenda Cumming from the book shop. The second table had two seats as well, one for Kristen and one for me. Two of the posters advertising the book signing were on easels at either end of the tables.

I'd be signing books right under my own photo. As if I was looking over my own shoulder.

Moira said, "Only two more details. What sort of pen do ye like to use?"

"Oh. Um - I like gel roller pens."

"All right, we'll get a supply in. And what would ye like to drink while you're signin'?"

"Whatever's easiest. You have tea-making facilities here, right?"

"Aye, we do. Tea it is." She beamed. "We'll see ye tomorrow at 10:00."

"Right. I'm looking forward to it." Sort of.

Back at the castle, everyone said goodnight and headed for their rooms. Once we were in bed, Pete retrieved his novel from the bedside table. "Our heroes are in trouble. They fought for the Jacobites at Culloden, and now they've lost their land."

"Uh oh. What will they do?"

"Don't know yet. It's wrecked their chances for marriage."

"That's a good thing, though. They don't want to marry women, do they?"

"Of course not." Pete sighed. "I don't know how this is gonna end."

I said, "It's a romance. It _has_ to end with a happily ever after or a happy for now."

He grinned. "You're such an expert in romance writing now."

I snorted. "I know way more about it than I ever wanted to." Thanks to a romance writer named Mercedes Moran who was killed on UCLA's campus last fall.

He lay the book aside. "You know, I don't really feel like reading tonight. How's your head?"

I grinned. "It feels just fine. Join me on the floor?"

He laughed and climbed out of bed.

### Wednesday

We didn't rush to leave the castle the next morning. We'd seen everything there was to see at the clan gathering, and we'd be back there anyway in the afternoon for Kevin's caber toss final.

Val and Pete cooked scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and oatmeal muffins. Jeff and Kevin cleaned up. Dad and Claudia went for a walk. I spent a half hour transcribing interviews; another hour and I'd be done, and ready to start writing the interviews into context.

Jeff and Val were restless - our accommodations felt cramped to them, even though there was plenty of room - and wanted to go back to the farm exhibits. Pete and I said we'd go with them. Kristen said that she'd see me at the library at 9:30 to prepare for the book signing. The rest of the family would see us at the park for Kevin's competition at about 2:30.

At 8:30 we drove into town, parked in the muddy field at the farm expo, and went to the cattle pens. Jeff introduced us to Terry French, the local large animal veterinarian, a tall, skinny guy with dark hair, and we went to visit a heifer that was about to calve with twins.

Jeff, Val, and Terry were standing by the cow, stroking her nose and discussing calving tactics with her owner. Pete and I were sitting on the rail fence that formed one side of the pens and corrals all along the cattle and horse exhibitors, near the corner of the barn. I was watching Jeff interact with Terry French, thinking how much anyone could see that Jeff loved his profession, when Pete elbowed me in the ribs and whispered, "Listen."

I whispered back, although I didn't know why. "To what?"

He tipped his head behind us. "Don't turn around."

I gave him a thumbs up and listened. One man was saying, "You're gettin' worked up over nowt. They'll never find it."

The other voice was also male, slightly higher pitched. "You doona know that."

"He's already pitched it into the harbor. It'll be out to sea by the time they think to search for it."

"It was a mistake, havin' him witness. Now his name's out there."

"He was here for the gathering. Nowt more than that. No one can say there was any other purpose."

I leaned over to Pete and whispered in his ear. "Are they talking about David Macalister?"

"Sounds like it."

The men continued the conversation. The one who seemed to be worried said, "We didna need him to do that. There were two others."

"But we didna know they'd see, did we?" The first, lower voice chuckled. "Angus Grant and his prostrate."

Pete bit his lip to keep from laughing. I grinned. It sounded like Angus and his _prostrate_ had been telling the truth to D.I. Graham yesterday.

The man with the higher pitched voice said, "When are ye leaving?"

"Tonight. Bea is dropping me at Inverness this evenin' for the night train."

When a Scot referred to the night train, he or she typically meant the night train to London. Whoever we were listening to must live down there. The other man said, "It's well and good for the two of ye. Back to your routines in England, where Police Scotland would never think to go."

"They'll never think to go north or west, either. You two will be fine. When are ye going?"

"Tomorrow morning." The higher voiced man sighed deeply. "I cannae believe it's done. It all feels like a bad dream now."

"A bad dream ye'll nowt have again." I heard a sound like one man had slapped the other's shoulder. "One last pint?"

"It's not even noon!"

"Close enough, innit?"

The other man laughed. "Aye. I suppose so."

They moved away from us in the other direction, still hidden by the barn. Pete and I waited until they were well away from us to speak. I whispered anyway. "Did we just hear two of the murderers?"

"I think so. And I'd bet they were talking about David Macalister tossing the fire suit into some harbor."

I said, "If it was him, that'll be Liverpool. The mouth of the Mersey. The first guy is right. It'll never be found."

"And the one guy lives in London?"

"Someplace well south, at least. And the other man and someone else are going north and west."

Pete asked, "To Orkney, d'you suppose?"

"Could be. Maybe Shetland, maybe just Wick, or Thurso. Or any number of little villages between here and there. West could mean Glasgow, but I bet it means the islands. But, hell, it _could_ mean Canada."

Pete said, "We need to tell Roddy Simpson about this."

"Yes." I checked my watch. "But right now, I need to get to the library for the book signing."

At the library, we found that Kristen had beaten us there. I said, "Did Dad and Kevin come too?"

"No. Kev's taking a nap. Jeff will pick up him, Dave, and Claudia in a couple of hours."

Moira Fraser appeared from behind the library desk, just as Brenda Cumming came through the door. Moira said, "Jamie, Pete, I have tea and cake, if you'd like some."

We ate cake - similar to what we'd call breakfast bread, full of fruit - and drank one cup of tea, then carried the second cup to the table. Pete sat behind us, in the comfortable chairs, and began reading the _Guardian_. Brenda ensured that her wireless connection was working for credit card sales and Moira straightened a stack of books that didn't need straightening.

Kristen sipped her tea and leaned toward me. "Before you got here I searched through old newspapers from the town. From when Calum Gordon was in school here."

"Did you learn anything?"

"He did kill a dog. Calum was found guilty and spent some time in what we'd call juvie, I guess."

"Pete and I overheard an intriguing conversation while we were at the farm fair." I gave Kristen a quick synopsis.

"Oooh. No names?"

"Nope. But it sounds as if David Macalister might have been one of them."

"And Angus Grant was telling the truth."

"Yes. I'm happy to hear that."

"Me too." Kristen glanced around and lowered her voice even further. "There was also a rape."

"Calum?"

"Yes. He was 18, so his name was in the news. The girl was 16. She wasn't named."

"Easy to see why someone would have wanted vengeance for that."

Moira propped the front door of the library open, arranged the poster that stood on an easel nearby for maximum visual impact, and came back inside to take her seat beside me. "Here we go! This is so exciting."

To my utter amazement, a line of people quickly formed. As they came through the line, shaking my hand and telling me how much they'd enjoyed the book, I surmised that these were locals who already owned the book.

Once the lunch rush had slowed, we started seeing more Americans come through the line. One burly man wearing a kilt - not a Brodie plaid - bought a book from Brenda then handed it to me. "Could you sign it to Andrea?" His accent was upper Midwestern.

"Sure." I did so and returned the book to him. "Where are you from?"

"Minneapolis." The guy checked what I'd written and grinned. "Thanks! Now I've got to go limber up for the caber toss."

Kristen said, "Oh, my husband is competing in that, too."

The guy cracked his knuckles. "Well, it'll be a good competition. Thanks again." He walked away.

By 2:00, the flow of customers had slowed to a trickle, but it had been a successful day. Brenda sold most of her stock of my books; Moira kept us supplied with her excellent tea and cake.

We offered to help Moira with the tables and chairs, but she waved us off. "Gaun with ye to the games. Good luck to Kevin."

We thanked Moira and Brenda profusely and hustled over to the park. We found the rest of the family already in the stands, holding seats for us. Kevin was on the field, talking to one of the other competitors. I asked my dad, "Has he warmed up and everything?"

Dad said, "Yep. He took a jog up the road and back. He says he's ready."

I pointed out the man who had come through the line at the library. "That guy bought one of my books."

Claudia said, "Good. I hope he comes in second."

There were ten competitors. They ranged in age, in my estimation, from late teens through late fifties. Kevin was the only one in a Brodie kilt.

There would be five rounds of competition; the top score from all five rounds would win. The first tosses by the competitors weren't too successful. Kevin and a couple of guys of about his size were at the end of the line, chatting with each other and applauding for each attempt.

Finally it was time for Kevin's first toss. He hefted the caber without difficulty, took a couple of running steps and launched it. The caber flipped beautifully, landing at about 10:00.

The crowd went wild. The announcer exclaimed, "Now tha's the way ye toss a caber, folks!"

Kevin took his place at the back of the line. Kristen stuck her fingers in her mouth and produced a loud wolf whistle. He looked up at her and grinned.

As the second round of tosses began, I saw Roddy Simpson working his way toward us, a pint in his hand. Off duty, obviously. I waved, and he sat down beside me, holding up his cup to bump against my own. "Cheers, mate."

"Cheers." I took a drink then lowered my voice. "I have something to tell you."

"What's that?"

I repeated to Roddy what I'd heard at the barn. "They didn't use any names, but I thought you might be able to figure out who they were from where they were scattering to."

"Aye." Roddy was thoughtful. "I might."

I watched him mull it over. "What are you going to do?"

"I doona know yet." Roddy took a long drink. "I'll likely discuss it wi' my superintendent. But it sounds to me as if all we have is a lot o' hearsay with no evidence."

I said, "True. I don't know what proof you could find, unless any trace evidence turned up at the scene."

Roddy shook his head. "There was nothing. Scene of crime officers combed that field and the entire area between Calum's caravan and where his body was found. Not a thing. They determined that the accelerant was everyday petrol. Nothing special there. And if the fire suit is at the bottom o' the Mersey..."

I said, "They're going to get away with it."

Roddy scratched his nose. "Aye. They might at that."

I didn't know how I felt about that.

Kevin won the caber toss, with a final toss that was nearly perfect. He was the only competitor to flip the caber every time. The prize was twenty pounds and a free pint at the Red Lion, our favorite pub in town. The announcer shoved the microphone in Kevin's face. He said, "Thank you all for the support. I'm going to donate this twenty pounds to the Moray Food Bank."

Once again, the crowd went wild.

The guy who'd bought my book did take second \- also a free pint at the Red Lion and ten pounds, which he offered to the food bank as well. The third place contestant, a guy who looked like a farmer, won five pounds. He didn't offer it to charity; I didn't blame him. For some people, every five pounds helped. This wasn't one of the wealthier areas of Moray.

We decided to wait to get Kevin's pint later. We stopped at the grocery store to replenish our stores, then headed to the castle. Once there, Val and Pete set about creating dinner.

I followed Kevin upstairs. He unfastened his kilt and tossed it on the bed. "We're not wearing these again, are we?"

"No. When we get home we need to get them dry cleaned. Listen, I have news." I told him about the two men at the barn, what Kristen had found at the library, and what Roddy had said.

Kevin dropped onto his bed. "Well. It's out of our hands, isn't it?"

"I guess so. Roddy is going to talk to his superintendent. I'm sure they'll be able to sort out who committed the crime. I don't know if they'll tell Graham and Kennedy."

Kevin sighed. "I expect they will. They're good cops. But if there is no evidence, which it sounds like there's not, and if the four men have already scattered... I don't know what Glasgow would do about it."

"Do you think they'll give Graham and Kennedy the men's names?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Things work differently here, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

That night in bed I asked Pete, "What do you think about Calum Gordon's murderers getting away with it?"

He propped his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling. "It's a moral dilemma. Calum Gordon was a despicable person who was a leech on this town. No one's grieving for him. But he was murdered, and in a particularly egregious manner."

"And someone should answer for that."

"Yes. But will they? I don't know. I doubt any of them will ever confess, and there is no evidence. If Kev and Jon were taking this case to our D.A., he wouldn't pursue it without any evidence or confession."

I said, "Besides - the Glasgow cops would have to find the four guys first. David Macalister is the only name they have, and I expect he'll deny any knowledge of anything besides seeing the ghost."

Pete said, "That wasn't a good decision, though, having him be one of the ones who supposedly saw the ghost. It would have been smarter to keep everyone's name out of it."

"But then they would have had to use a fifth person, right? Maybe there were only four of them. And how could they know that Claudia and Angus Grant would both have to use the bathroom at that time?"

Pete shook his head. "That was dumb luck. When killers get lucky, sometimes they do get away with it."

I sighed. "I guess maybe karma will have to catch up with them."

### Thursday

On Thursday morning we struck out for the coast again, hiking the third and longest segment of the Moray Coast Trail, which ran from from Lossiemouth to Buckie. The weather wasn't as favorable as on Tuesday; the skies were consistently cloudy, and there was a chilly wind coming off the North Sea. Occasionally, the clouds spit a few drops of rain down on us.

It didn't matter. We were prepared for anything in our hiking boots and wind- and rain-resistant clothing. Before we'd left home, I'd made sure that my southern California family was prepared for the Scottish climate.

Pete and I walked together, continuing our conversation from last night. Pete said, "I've been thinking about the clan system. It's never completely died out, has it?"

"Not entirely, no. Do you remember the first time we met Fiona? When Mary Elizabeth Morgan was following us all over northern Scotland, hoping we'd lead her to the ard point?" An ard point was a Stone Age farming implement. Pete's great-great-grandfather had discovered one, then been killed with it by a rival archaeologist.

"Um - I remember that conversation, but nothing about clans."

I said, "We asked Fiona why Mary Elizabeth and Fiona's coworker, who pointed her in our direction, were so close. Fiona said that her coworker was a Mackay. 'Mackays and Morgans are clan,' is what she said."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now. But I thought that might matter more among older people."

"I'm sure that's true. But out in the country, I think it holds with younger people too. In the cities, not so much."

"Makes sense." Pete gazed out over the sea. "I've been thinking about Forres, and why no one is talking about Calum Gordon's killers, and why the ghost story and the spontaneous human combustion story spread so easily."

"You think it's related to clans?"

"Maybe. Is that possible?"

"Sure. Any of the citizens of Forres who grew up here are very conscious of that. I found that out last summer. Most of the local clans are interrelated, back in the mists of time. The Grants, the Frasers, the Duffs, the Brodies - they still respect those ties."

"Detective Graham must be bright enough to realize that he doesn't have much of a chance here."

"I expect so. Which is why I'm thinking that we might need to tell him what we know."

Pete frowned. "There's no proof."

"I know. He'll have to decide what he wants to do about it. And we only have the one name to give him. But I guess my upbringing, with Dad and Sarge always emphasizing doing the right thing, is kicking me in this direction."

"Sure. I don't doubt that Kevin is feeling the same thing."

I gave Pete a sideways glance. "I guess that the concept of doing the right thing wasn't discussed a lot during your childhood."

He snorted a laugh. "No. 'The right thing' to my mother meant the church. Everything else - every _one_ else \- was secondary to that. We got in trouble for lying and cussing and disobeying, like everyone else, but we didn't have a lot of discussions about the reasons for moral behavior. It just was."

"But you learned it anyway."

"Yeah. My baseball coach in high school was a great role model. And my first partner on the police force was a big proponent of 'do the right thing.' And then, of course, I met Kevin."

I laughed. "And his finely honed sense of justice."

"Exactly. So when we get back this afternoon, are you going to try and track down Detective Graham?"

"Yeah. I am."

Kevin and I found D.I. Graham, minus his sidekick Kennedy, buying a box of tablet - a buttery, creamy, fudge-like creation - at one of the booths in the park. It was the last day of the clan gathering, and prices were discounted. Kevin and I moved to either side of Graham. Kevin said, "Hi, Detective."

Graham turned and lifted an eyebrow. "Detective Brodie. What can I do for ye?"

Kevin said, "We have a theory to run past you."

Graham's sardonic expression said, _This oughta be good_. But he said, "Let's move out of earshot."

I said, "Just as soon as I buy some of this tablet."

We followed Graham into the park, to a patch of grass where no one was sitting. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of the sheepdog demonstrations and a pipe and drum band playing. Graham pried open his box of tablet and popped a piece into his mouth. "Let's hear this theory, then."

I said, "There were four of them. Each of them had a reason to hate Calum Gordon more than most. One, for reasons we don't know. One, because Gordon had completely humiliated him on the playground when they were adolescents. One, because Gordon killed his pet dog. And one, because Gordon had raped his sister - or maybe girlfriend - when they were teenagers."

Graham frowned. "How do ye know that?"

I said, "My sister-in-law and I are librarians. There are old newspapers at the Forres Library. My sister-in-law did some research. Gordon was named in the rape case, but the girl wasn't."

Kevin said, "We only have one name, and you have that name yourself. David Macalister. Everyone commented on how odd it was that he'd come back to town for a clan gathering."

Graham's frown deepened. "Aye, but we questioned him. He denied any involvement. We couldnae break his story. Believe me, we tried."

I said, "I overheard a conversation at the animal stables on Wednesday. Two men were talking about someone getting rid of something by throwing it in the harbor. It's possible that David Macalister took the fire suit back to Liverpool with him, and tossed it in the water."

Graham shifted. "You didnae see these two men?"

"No, sir. Only heard their voices. One said he was going south, leaving last night, on the train. The other said he was going north, and they spoke of a fourth man - besides the two of them and Macalister - who was headed west."

"No more detail than that?"

'No, sir."

Kevin said, "It would have taken two men to carry Calum Gordon from his trailer - sorry, caravan - to the spot where he was set on fire. It would have taken two other men to stage the ghostly appearance on the other side of the castle. Those two men would have needed knowledge of how to create the appearance of a flaming ghost. One to wear the fire suit - an old one is missing from the fire station, anyone could have taken it - and one to extinguish the flames."

I said, "They'd planned for David Macalister to be the witness to the ghost. They had no idea that Angus Grant and my dad's girlfriend would see it as well."

Graham said, "Then these four kept their heads down for a few days?"

Kevin said, "Right. So as not to attract attention by disappearing immediately after the murder."

Graham sighed deeply, looking at the sky. "Aye. I'd suspected the bones of what you've said. Although that conversation you overheard adds some meat to those bones, there's nowt in the way of evidence that any o' this happened."

Kevin said, "That's hard to imagine. First-time killers, not leaving a single trace?"

"Aye. They covered their tracks well. We found nowt in that field. No footprints, so they must have stayed entirely in the grass. No sign of any vehicles being parked nearby, so they must have walked from wherever they lived. No evidence that David Macalister left his room at the bed and breakfast that night, although he certainly could have - the old couple who run the place are deaf as posts."

I asked, although I knew the answer because Roddy Simpson had told me, "The arson dog didn't find anything useful?"

"Nae. Evidence of accelerant, sure, but it was standard petrol. What you can buy at any station. And there wasn't a shred of trace evidence in the field where Calum was found. We did find residue from a fire extinguisher at the site of the 'ghost.' But nowt else."

Kevin said, "What will you do now?"

"Not much to do. The fire investigators are going through what was left o' Calum, runnin' it all through spectrometers, lookin' for molecules that might be clues." He shrugged. "I doona have much hope that they'll find anything useful."

Kevin said, "They won't kill again."

"Nae. They won't."

I said, "So they'll get away with it."

Graham eyed me thoughtfully. "Sometimes that happens, as I'm sure you know. We cannae bring a case without evidence. I questioned David Macalister twice. He'll never tell us anything. There must be at least a few in this town who know what happened, but they're not saying. The rest is just..." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Theory."

We parted ways with Graham. I said, "What do you think?"

Kevin shrugged. "I think he's right. Sometimes they get away with it. But karma, if that what you want to call it, eventually catches up. They got O.J. Simpson for armed robbery. We nailed Josh Marcus for fraud." Josh Marcus, everyone thought, had been involved in one of Kevin's homicide cases, but it could never be proven.

I said, "Karma might agree with ridding the earth of Calum Gordon, though."

Kevin snorted. "I guess that's for karma to decide."

### Friday

We spent our last full day at the castle hiking the final portion of the Moray Coast Trail, the shortest segment, from Buckie to Cullen. I walked first with Claudia, while Dad was ahead with Kevin. She said, "I want to thank you all again for this trip. It's been fantastic."

Claudia had insisted on buying her own plane ticket, but we hadn't accepted payment for any of the lodgings. I said, "You're more than welcome. It's the least we can do to express our gratitude that you're making our dad so happy."

She grinned. "It's working the other way around, too. After my husband died, I thought, well, I'll just live life on my own terms. I really wasn't planning to be in another relationship. But Dave is special."

I grinned back. "He is, isn't he? Did you get to do all the genealogy you hoped to?"

"Well, there's always more to do, isn't there? But I certainly know a lot more now than I did, and I can go back to the FamilySearch website and start filling in gaps."

"Stratton is an English name, isn't it?"

"Yes. From the Roman word for street. My husband's great-grandparents were from Wiltshire. We were fortunate to be able to travel in the south of England three times before he died."

I said, looking at the back of Pete's head, "I can't _imagine_ what that's like."

Claudia followed my gaze and recognized what I meant. "Your world just stops. At least that's how it was for me."

"My aunt Linda said that we were the ones who saved Dad."

"Yes. Dave has said that very thing to me." She smiled at me. "He adores you all."

I smiled back. "We adore him, too."

We ate lunch in a pub in Cullen, then caught the bus back to Elgin where we'd parked the cars. We showed Claudia the cathedral, which our Brodie ancestor - the "intemperate bigot" \- had helped to wreck all those years ago, then drove back to the castle.

We did more laundry, collected belongings that were scattered through various rooms, and started to pack. When I went upstairs to our room with an armload of clean clothes, Pete had both of our suitcases on the bed. He said, "We want to stuff as much as possible in these, right?"

"Right. So we don't have to schlep them through the airports."

"Including all the soap you bought?"

"Yeah. It's heavy. Try not to let it get banged up, though." I set down the stack of clothing.

"I put our kilts on the bottom, because they're dirty."

I laughed. "Right. They go to the cleaners as soon as we get back to LA."

It was too early to eat dinner, so we gathered once more in the sitting room, pre-dinner drinks in hand. Jeff said, "The history here is amazing. I finally see what you've been going on about all these years, Jamie."

I said, "You ain't seen nothing yet. Tomorrow on the way out of town we'll stop at Clava Cairns to see the burial chambers."

Dad said, "I'd like to see Hadrian's Wall sometime."

I said, "Next trip."

### Author's Note:

"The Brodie" mentioned in the prologue refers to the Brodie of Brodie, in other words the current clan chief.

George Brodie, the youngest grandson of the 21st clan chief, died in India, unmarried, at age 24. In reality, he didn't live long enough to produce Jamie's family line. (That's why I chose him for this fictional job.)

It's true that Lady Margaret Duff Brodie burned to death in the castle after falling asleep in front of the fire. However, there's never been any indication of ghostly activity on her part. The story about the ghost of the clan chief who died abroad, however, is true. It's also true that the Gordons burned Brodie Castle and put a curse on the clan.

For the story of the recent Brodie chiefs, read this:  https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/1999/mar/17/features11.g26

This is a quote: "'I would quite like for the Clan Brodie to have gone on, but maybe it's best if it all dies with me.' As he says this, [Ninian] Brodie points down towards the family crest. 'There are branches of the Clan in California and Toronto, people walking about dressed in full Brodie tartan. Some came to stay and insisted I took them to the Highland Games. That sort of thing bores me to distraction. Don't see the point of it myself.'"

It's been a while since I had my own tour of Brodie Castle, and we weren't allowed to take interior photos, so my memory of the public side of the castle is a bit off. I skipped several rooms for brevity's sake, and probably placed pictures and historical events in the wrong rooms. Sorry.

I owe the detailed description of the Laird's Apartments to a Youtube video shot by Keith Savage of Traveling Savage Cribs. Check it out: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWRvQ6KdaXw>

Some of the places that I've described in Forres are real; some are not. For example, there is no bookstore in town selling new books. (There's a business niche, if anyone's interested...)

Thanks to my writing group: Bryan, Chris, Dustin, Jenn, Maggie, Michael, and Michelle. Thanks to Stephanie Reppas at October Design Co. for another terrific cover. Thanks to Mary Baker of Archaeotours for taking us to Brodie Castle, and for making sure that we understand the distinction between trousers and pants. And thanks to Chris, Kristen, Melissa, and Sue for being the best traveling companions ever.

Coming in Spring 2019: _Obsessed to Death_ , Jamie Brodie Mystery #18.

For updates: <http://megperrybooks.wordpress.com/> and <http://www.facebook.com/jamiebrodiemysteries>
