But the floor was swept clean and had probably been mopped to assure Sophie that there were no glass or porcelain shards from the broken dishware. She wouldn’t have left the cat here if that were the case.

  From what Claire had told us, I had no doubt that the person who had wreaked the destruction in Gwyneth’s home was the same creep who had also ravaged Claire’s home in San Francisco. It was the same level of vicious, nonsensical damage. And it made me sick.

  “It looks so much better in here now,” Claire said softly, glancing around the apartment. She was standing by the kitchen counter, holding a small bag of kitty treats.

  “I’m glad,” I said. “Do you know anyone in the village who could’ve done it?”

  She looked bereft. “No.”

  “I wouldn’t think you did,” I said quickly. “But I saw your place and it was awful. It felt personal.”

  “Exactly,” she whispered angrily. “It’s personal. The men who did it know my aunt.”

  “Are you sure they’re men?”

  Her eyes widened at the question and she had to consider it. “I can’t imagine a woman toppling a bookcase like this.”

  “It could’ve been a woman who gave the orders,” I suggested.

  I could see that I had upset her. She shook her head but didn’t answer my question. Instead she hugged herself, running her hands up and down her arms as if she was freezing.

  “I’m just grateful that they didn’t hurt Heathcliff,” she said at last.

  At the sound of his name, the cat peeked out from behind the sofa.

  Claire smiled. “There you are, precious.” She held out the treat and the cat approached warily.

  “So this cat is Heathcliff,” I said. “And your cat is Maxim de Winter.”

  She grinned. “Yes.”

  “Boy, you and Gwyneth really are gothic fangirls.”

  “We are indeed.” The beautiful cat gave the treat a tentative lick, then took it and began to munch on it. Claire turned and opened a cupboard in the kitchen and pulled out a small can of cat food. She popped open the can and spooned the food into a small bowl, then found a larger bowl and filled it with fresh water. After she set both of the bowls down on a plastic mat at the far end of the kitchen, Heathcliff pounced on his meal.

  I took a minute to study the apartment. It was a good size, with a front room that overlooked the high street. The kitchen was open to the living room and separated by a narrow island with two stools. I caught a glimpse of a bedroom down a short hallway and I assumed there was a bathroom attached.

  The main entry was off the back stairway and there was a balcony that held two comfortable chairs, a table, and a small barbecue grill. I had caught a glimmer of blue water peeking between the trees, so there was a view of the Loch as well.

  Heathcliff continued to attack the cat food as though he hadn’t been fed in a month, but we knew that Sophie had been here yesterday.

  “He’s a handsome boy,” I said.

  “Isn’t he?” Claire gave the cat a quick stroke, then stepped away, as if to allow the animal some privacy to enjoy his meal.

  Derek continued his search through the somewhat straightened piles of magazines and knickknacks that had been returned to tabletops. He worked his way through the kitchen cupboards and even opened the refrigerator. He was nothing if not thorough.

  I took on the job of going through the books. It was slow work because I wanted to check inside the books while making sure that all the bent and crumpled pages were straightened out before I returned them to the shelves.

  I had a real aversion to anyone who would deliberately damage a book. It was a different kind of cruelty and showed a lack of humanity as well as a pitiful deficiency of character.

  But that was just me.

  I came across a treasure trove of Gwyneth’s favorite gothic novels and smiled at some of the titles. She was definitely a fan of the genre. I noticed a copy of Jane Eyre sitting by itself on one of the shelves so I picked it up and absently opened it in the middle. And that’s where I found a small sealed envelope addressed to Claire.

  “Claire,” I called.

  I heard her walk down the hall from the bedroom. “What is it?”

  “I found this.” I handed her the small envelope.

  She stared at her name on the outside. “It’s from Aunt Gwyneth.”

  “Yes, I thought so. The handwriting matches the first note that came with the flowers.”

  Her hand was shaking and she had to take a moment.

  Derek was watching from the other side of the room. “Can you open it?”

  “Yes, of course.” She carefully pulled up the sealed flap, slid the small notecard out, and read the words on the inside.

  Finally she exhaled heavily and looked from me to Derek. “She says she’s safe.”

  “May I see it?” Derek asked, crossing the room.

  She handed it to him and he read the contents out loud.

  “I know you’re worried, darling. But I’m safe where I am and Derek will keep you safe until I can return. I love you, Claire. Yours, Gwyneth.”

  “It’s as if she’s watching me,” Claire whispered.

  I looked at Derek and wondered if maybe that was exactly what Gwyneth was doing. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It was a mystery no matter how you sliced it.

  “I found the book sitting all by itself on this shelf,” I said, pointing to the empty space. “She must’ve put it there for Claire to find.”

  It took Claire a minute to recover, but then she shook herself and straightened up. “I’m still going to worry about her, but I’m better now. She says she’s safe.”

  I nodded. “And she expects us to keep you safe. And we will.”

  “You have so far,” Claire said with a tremulous smile.

  Derek returned to the other side of the room. “I found something else over here. I think it’s important.”

  I crossed the room. “What is it?”

  “Look at this.”

  It was a faded color photograph of two teenaged girls frolicking on the banks of the Loch. I assumed it was Loch Ness, and I also assumed that one of the girls was Gwyneth. The frame was still intact but the glass was shattered.

  The photo was inscribed: “To Don, in friendship and in fun. Beatrice and Tanya.”

  “Who’s Don?” I wondered.

  “It’s me,” Derek said, and grinned. “Don Danger. It’s what she used to call me.”

  I started to laugh. “You’re kidding. It’s so silly, but I like it. But why couldn’t you be Derek Danger?”

  “Because in our line of work, we tended to use names other than our own.”

  “Oh, all right.” I chuckled. “Just to be clear, though. You never actually used the name Don Danger in your work?”

  He was still grinning. “No. Just around the office. And mainly just with Gwyneth.”

  “You called her Gwyn Quinn before. Was that her special name or did you call her something else?”

  He began to laugh and it took him a full minute to get the name out. “She insisted that I call her ‘Tanya Roma.’ ”

  “Wow.” I chuckled. “Exotic. Sexy.”

  “Exactly. She insisted that I pronounce it with an accent. Roll the ‘R’ and all that.”

  I rubbed his arm affectionately. “You were good friends.”

  “Yes.” His laughter died out and he set his teeth. “We have to find her.”

  “May I see it?” Claire asked.

  “Of course.” Derek handed her the photo.

  I tapped the frame. “What does this photograph tell you?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, this is Aunt Gwyneth and Mrs. Buchanan.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Buchanan,” I said. “So her first name is Beatrice?”

  “Yes. Aunt Gwyneth calls her Bea.”

  “Good to know.”

  Derek nodded. “And wherever this was taken, wherever it is they’re playing, I believe we’ll find a clue.”

  “That has to be right,” I said. “She wouldn’t have displayed a photo of herself and a girlfriend that was signed off to you.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Claire handed it back to Derek. “You should hold on to this.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “When we get back to the castle,” I said, “we should track down Jenny MacDougall. Sophie confirmed that she’s Reggie MacDougall’s daughter.”

  “Is she?” Claire asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” I said. “She might know something.”

  “She might know who hired her father to come after Claire.” Derek glanced at his watch. “We’ll go look for her first thing. And later, you’ll tell me everything else that Sophie told you.”

  I nodded. “Some very interesting stuff.”

  “I’d love to hear that, too,” Claire said.

  There was a knock at the back door and the sudden sound gave me a small jolt.

  “Who can that be?” Claire wondered aloud.

  “I’ll find out,” Derek said.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll get it,” Claire said, and headed for the back door.

  Derek crossed to the kitchen and with a flick of the wrist whacked the inexpensive frame against the edge of the metal trash can. Shards of glass cascaded into the can. Then he tossed the frame in, too, and slipped the photograph into his jacket pocket.

  A half minute later, Claire walked back into the room, followed by Cameron MacKinnon. I exchanged a quick look with Derek and Claire. It was clear that the laird was the last person any of us expected to see in Gwyneth’s apartment.

  The laird scanned the room. “Well, it doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would.”

  “Sophie hired a cleaning crew,” Claire snapped, then took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an apparent attempt to calm herself down. “It looks a lot better now than it did a few days ago.”

  “Good,” he muttered. “Good.”

  “But it’s disturbing anyway,” she said. “And the fact that Aunt Gwyneth is still missing makes it even more so.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She clutched her hands together. “We were hoping to uncover some clue in here that would help us find her.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  Claire glanced at Derek. “No. Not so far.”

  Derek shook his head and said nothing about the photo he’d found. None of us said anything about the note found in the Jane Eyre. By unspoken agreement we weren’t about to pass any information over to the laird.

  The MacKinnon nodded and walked around the room, studying the stacks of books and the various doodads here and there.

  He picked up another picture frame and I noticed the glass was cracked in this one, too. He studied the photo, then laid the frame on the end table. He stood still for a long moment and seemed to wrestle with what he wanted to say. Finally he spoke. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work here, Ms. Quinn, but it appears that I require your expertise.”

  “My expertise?”

  “You’re a weapons expert, are you not?”

  She was taken aback. “I am.”

  “Then I need you,” he said. “It’s a matter of grave importance.”

  “Grave importance.” She glanced at me, then Derek, and then looked back to the laird. “That’s unusual.”

  “Most definitely. I apologize again for disrupting your work and for distressing you in any way. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t urgent, but I’m afraid it is.”

  She frowned. “You’re not distressing me.”

  “Good.” He managed a half smile. “Then you’ll come with me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not a coward, Ms. Quinn,” he murmured.

  Her spine straightened. “I most certainly am not.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He nodded his approval. “If you’re ready, we need to leave now.”

  “My friends will come with me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at Derek and me. “Will they?”

  “You bet your boots we’re coming,” I said, before the MacKinnon could refuse us. It probably wasn’t the most proper way to speak to his lairdship, but it worked for me. I grabbed my backpack and slipped my arms through the straps.

  MacKinnon’s cheek wavered. Was he biting his tongue? Trying not to laugh? “Yes, of course. Let’s be off, then.”

  “I’ll lock up,” Claire said. She stopped first to give the cat several long, smooth strokes and some scratches between his ears. “I’ll be back to spend more time with you, Heathcliff my love. Yes, I will. I promise. And Sophie will come by to visit you this afternoon.”

  “Can’t Sophie take him home for a few days?” I asked.

  “She tried, but Heathcliff wouldn’t stop yowling and it turns out that Sophie’s mother is terribly allergic. So we keep him here where he’s happy and she tries to visit several times a day.” She stood up, picked up her small backpack and keys, and we all walked out of the apartment.

  The laird drove a large, all-terrain vehicle that was dirty and mud-splattered on the outside but spotless inside. Derek and I climbed into the back seat, where we were able to enjoy the view as he drove north and then east over the hills.

  He glanced at Derek and me in the rearview mirror. “We have about twenty miles to drive so you might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  After a minute, Derek asked, “How do you like the all-terrain?”

  “I like it,” he said. “It’s a good truck for driving around the property, as you might imagine. It’s a smooth ride and comfortable enough to carry guests around in. I have a Jaguar for street driving and for long distances, but I get a lot of use out of this one on the back roads.”

  “How much land do you have here?” Derek asked.

  “Seven hundred acres.”

  “That’s a decent size,” Derek said. He glanced at me and winked and I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t dare interrupt the guy bonding thing.

  I knew that Derek wanted to establish a rapport with the MacKinnon, but I doubted that he would be helpful in finding Aunt Gwyneth. Of course, if he was the one responsible for Gwyneth’s kidnapping or death, I would be more than happy to take him down.

  “Did you bring your golf clubs?” the laird asked.

  “Not on this trip,” Derek said smoothly. “Perhaps next time.”

  I gave him a sideways glance. I’d never seen him play golf or even heard him mention the sport. I’d lived in the same house with him for several years now and I could swear there were no golf clubs anywhere.

  But since he was playing along, I decided to join in. “I do wish we’d thought to bring our clubs. It’s always an adventure to play golf in Scotland. Your courses are so wild and wooly.”

  “The wilder the better,” he said with a smile. “We Scots are justifiably proud of our ancient courses.”

  After another minute, I asked, “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to a place called the Clava Cairns,” he said.

  Claire perked up. “The ancient burial grounds.”

  “Yes. You’re familiar with it?”

  “I’ve never been there,” she said, “but we had talked about visiting while we’re here.”

  “We won’t have time for a lengthy visit, but you’ll surely get a feeling for the place while we’re there.”

  “Good. I’d like that.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I understand that you met Allen yesterday.”

  “Yes,” Claire said. “I’ve met him before, through Sophie.”

  “Ah,” he said.

  “He was very nice,” I said. “Took us to the pub.”

  “And you threw axes,” the laird said.

  I grinned. “It was a lot of fun.” I almost added, We saw you there, looking really hostile. But this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up.

  “Was it fun for you, Ms. Quinn?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” Claire said. “I love it.”

  “You’re quite good at it.”

  She nodded. “I learned at a very young age.”

  “From your father, I imagine.”

  “He wasn’t actually the one who taught me, but he always encouraged me to learn to protect myself.”

  I had thought that the laird’s mere mention of Claire’s father would cause waves of anger and resentment to radiate out from her, but she seemed to have calmed down. For the moment, anyway.

  Before Claire could utter another word, the laird announced, “We’re here.”

  All conversation was halted as he pulled into a parking lot and brought the car to a stop in front of a thicket of tall, leafy trees. Fog was beginning to gather in hazy wisps across the hillside and I was glad I’d worn a jacket.

  “We’ll have a bit of a walk,” he said as we all climbed down from the SUV.

  The number of ancient burial sites in this area was amazing. They were scattered across acres of mostly green lawn and scrub, surrounded by trees and hills. Each individual cairn had its own peculiarities and patterns. It was fascinating.

  The MacKinnon pointed out the types as we walked. There were standing stones, chambered cairns, and a ring cairn. There were smaller rocks layered in circles up to three or four feet high.

  “This one here is called a passage cairn. The layered rocks are spread out in a wide pattern with a small walkway—or passageway—leading into the center.” He pointed. “Theoretically, the center spot would lead into the crypt.”

  I stared at the multiple outcroppings of stones laid out in various shapes, from wide, flat circles, to a ten-foot-tall tower of stones, to a narrow, cylindrical cairn at least thirty feet long and only about ten feet wide.

  “How old are these stone circles?” I asked.