Derek and I realized at the same time that he was talking to us.

  “How may we help, your lordship?” I asked.

  Claire giggled, and I had to appreciate the MacKinnon’s ability to cheer her up.

  Cameron grumbled, “ ’Tis a shame we did away with the dungeon in the last century.” But I saw his smile and knew he was enjoying the playful interchange between Claire and himself.

  “That would take care of a world of problems,” Derek agreed.

  Less than a minute later, I saw Cameron wince and check the clock on the dash. “I completely forgot I’ve got an engagement this evening.”

  “Murder can make you forget most things,” I said.

  He sighed heavily. “Indeed. I should cancel the entire affair, but I’ve got several guests visiting from out of town who are only available tonight.”

  “Another reason to bring back the dungeon,” Claire said, and caught the MacKinnon by surprise.

  He laughed for a full minute, then finally managed to speak. “They’re coming to dinner, at any rate, and I would be most grateful if you all would attend as well.”

  “Who are your other guests?” Claire asked politely. “Perhaps I know them.”

  He waved away her question. “Just an older couple from the village and a few friends I’ve known for years. And Allen will be there, thank God.”

  Derek and I exchanged a look and I nodded. He said, “We’ll be happy to join you.”

  “Good,” he said briskly. “Thanks. Always nice to have some friends in the room.”

  “But you’ll have your friends,” I said. “And Allen.”

  He hesitated, then explained, “Allen’s loyalties will be split, unfortunately. The older couple happen to be his aunt and uncle.”

  “Ah.” Derek nodded sagely. “They could tip the scales against you.”

  “Exactly.”

  I chuckled, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. “We promise to take your side on every issue.”

  He smiled back at me. “The perfect guests.”

  We drove for a few minutes in silence. Finally I asked, “How well did you know Jenny?”

  “Not as well as I should have.” His voice was shadowed in regret. “She was always there, you see. She grew up around the castle and worked in the kitchen, but she was a decade younger than I, so while we were friendly, we were never actually friends. Her father Reggie worked for my father. And he still does the occasional odd job around the property.”

  Her father, I thought. Reggie MacDougall.

  “Are you close to her father?” I asked.

  “I know Reggie well enough,” he said, “because he was always around, working on something or other for my father. But we were never mates, if that’s what you meant.”

  I noticed he was talking about Reggie in the present tense. Was that deliberate? Or did he honestly not know that Reggie MacDougall was dead?

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Jesus. I’ll have to break the news to Reggie about Jenny.”

  “That’s never easy,” I said quietly.

  “No, but it’s got to be done.” He flexed his neck and his shoulders and sat a bit straighter in the driver’s seat. And I could see him mentally cloaking himself in the armor of the laird.

  * * *

  • • •

  The twin daggers were originally meant to be housed in this box.” Claire held up the wooden box with the inlaid mother-of-pearl design. She opened the case and showed him the one remaining dagger still set on the velvet lining.

  We had come straight to the great hall as soon as Cameron brought the all-terrain vehicle to a stop outside the kitchen door.

  He took the open box from Claire and weighed it in his hand. He stared at the lone dagger, picked it up, and held it up to the light. “Mother-of-pearl,” he murmured. “Carved brass lion. Double-edged steel.” With a sigh, he set it back in the box. “Damn it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said.

  “It’s not your fault. You were right.”

  “I’m sorry to see you suffer.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I thank you for that.”

  He walked along the utility tables, gazing at the dozens of weapons haphazardly displayed, many of them tarnished or broken. He found the other box Claire had mentioned that morning, that contained only the one pistol. “Another one missing?”

  “It’s probably somewhere in the cellar. Your people will find it and it’ll be a matched set again.”

  “My people are all from the village. They don’t know anything about weaponry or . . . much of anything, really. But they’re good workers. That’s all I wanted in order to start this inventory.”

  “Why did you decide to do an inventory?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath and I wasn’t sure if he would tell us or not. But then he said, “When I moved back to the castle, I began to have my suspicions that something was wrong. Things were missing. A piece of priceless artwork had vanished. Some cherished family heirlooms had disappeared.”

  “So you decided to catalog everything,” I said.

  “Exactly.” He looked abashed now, but he continued. “My father was deeply in debt to some local gamblers and had sold off some of our land when I got word of what was happening. I warned him to stop. But as long as he was in charge of the estate, I had no control over much of anything. The land or the castle itself, or the family money.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I moved to London for five years, but I would come back every few months, just to keep an eye on things.” He idly picked up a sword and swooshed it back and forth, then put it back on the table.

  “And then he up and left one day,” he said. “Allen called me out of the blue to let me know. I came rushing back and took over everything. Allen’s been a tremendous help in getting things back on track.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone you can trust,” Derek said.

  “Aye. That I am.” He glanced at the hodgepodge of weapons and artifacts scattered across the tables. “But I see I’ll need someone better at organizing and cataloging this mess than my young friends from the village.” He shook his head. “If it even matters.”

  “It certainly does matter,” Claire insisted. “The history of your people and your land is important. You said yourself that we Scots take pride in our history. So yes, it matters.”

  He was staring at her again, and he continued to do it until I saw Claire beginning to twitch. She flipped her hair back and straightened her jacket, then fiddled with the buttons.

  “Stop looking at me,” she finally said. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes were focused on her. “You can do it.”

  “Do what?” she demanded, then backed away, shaking her head. “No.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Yes. You can organize my collection.”

  Claire was so horrified that I quickly came up with a way to change the subject. “I would love to see your library.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. “It would be my pleasure to show you the library. You’ll have to forgive me if it’s not in the best condition. I had planned to begin the cleanup as soon as we finished with the weaponry.”

  We followed him as he walked out of the great hall and turned toward the main stairway, veering off to the right toward the foyer before coming to a heavy wooden door I hadn’t noticed before. “It’s in here. Brace yourselves.”

  “It’s that bad?” I said.

  “It’s not . . . pretty.”

  He opened the door and walked inside and I could smell the musty odor before I entered the room.

  I looked around and marveled at how he could’ve kept this room hidden from view. It was spectacular, with high ceilings and wall-to-wall bookshelves. A beautiful library ladder was suspended from a track that ran all the way around the room.

  But the musty smell was disturbing. “Did you have water damage in here?”

  “No. It’s just been closed off for the last year.”

  “I see.” I frowned.

  He rushed on. “It smelled so stuffy that I told Mrs. Buchanan to keep the door closed.”

  “It would be better to keep it open and let the smell and the stuffiness dissipate.”

  “That makes sense, but . . .”

  “But then you smell it all over the place.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a few suggestions. I can give them to Mrs. Buchanan later.”

  “That’s marvelous,” he said, with the slightest nod. “Thank you.”

  “Books are my thing,” I said with a smile. “Do you mind if I meander for a few minutes?”

  “Meander away,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I must go and prepare for my guests.”

  At the library door, Cameron turned and said, “We’ll serve cocktails at eight o’clock in the blue parlor and dinner at nine. I look forward to seeing you.”

  “We’ll see you then,” Claire said.

  “And, Claire,” he added. “Do think about what I said.”

  Claire was frowning as he left, but said nothing.

  I walked straight to the closest bookshelf and began studying the titles. With a smile, I said, “There are a lot of Scottish authors.”

  “That makes sense,” Derek said, and stared up at the impressive vaulted ceiling.

  I pulled a book out at random. “Treasure Island.” Then I noticed it was perched between Kidnapped and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

  I pulled the other two from the shelf. They were beautifully bound in matching brown leather and appeared to be in excellent condition. I grinned at Derek. “I think I’ll take these to our room and just, you know, savor them.”

  Derek laughed. “You do know how to have fun.”

  Claire joined in the laughter. “It does sound fun, but I’m going to run upstairs and take a bath.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “We’ll go up with you.”

  “Yes, let’s all go together,” Derek agreed.

  Claire was glowering again as we climbed the stairs and didn’t speak until we reached the door to her room.

  “Do you know what you’re going to do, Claire?”

  “I’m certainly not going to help him! His men follow his orders without question.” She gave me a beseeching look. “What if he arranged my aunt’s kidnapping?”

  “We have to find out,” I insisted. “We’ll go to the west tower tonight after everyone has gone to bed.”

  “Yes,” she said. “The sooner the better. Aunt Gwyneth may only have a short time left. If it’s not too late already.”

  “It’s four o’clock now,” Derek said, checking his watch. “Shall we meet right here at seven forty-five and go down together?”

  “Yes,” Claire said. “I’m fair exhausted so I’m all for taking a nap and then a bath.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said. “I may take a quick nap. Then I’ll probably do some work and then jump in the shower.”

  “Will you sweep my room again?” she whispered to Derek.

  He considered. “I’ll do it just before we go downstairs for cocktails. You’re not planning on phoning anyone before then, are you?”

  “No. And I’m not planning on giving up any state secrets in the meantime.”

  I smiled. “Good. We don’t want any international incidents.”

  Derek and I waited until she was in her room and heard the door lock before we walked down to our room.

  Back in our room, Derek said, “Are you planning to take a nap, darling?”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t think so.”

  “I have to find some time to finish reading the Rebecca. I ran out of time on the plane and I’m wondering if Gwyneth might’ve left more messages.”

  “All right. I’m going to check in with my office and see if my company is still functioning.”

  “Oh, I hope it is.”

  “Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed me. “You were very good with Claire this afternoon.”

  “She was suffering. And I get it.” I pulled the Rebecca out of my backpack and set it on the table with the three Robert Louis Stevenson books.

  “I didn’t see you freak out over the blood.”

  I stared at him, taken aback. “I didn’t even realize it. And there was a lot of blood.”

  “Yes, there was.”

  “Wow.” Now I shivered at the realization and held out my arms for him to see. “Look, I’ve got goose bumps.”

  He grinned. “Delayed reaction.”

  “Weird.”

  “You were more concerned with Claire than your own phobia,” he said. “She needed you so you couldn’t let down your guard.”

  “You’re right,” I said, a little awestruck at the realization. “She’s become a good friend in a very short period of time.”

  “I like her, too,” he said. “She’s a unique character.”

  “We sort of meet on the same plane.”

  “Is that the astral plane?” he asked, tongue in cheek.

  “It’s close. Speaking of which, have you noticed her aunt sounds a bit like my mother?”

  My mother was the original earth mother, a volatile combination of Wiccan power and Deadhead coolness. And speaking of astral planes, my mother had her very own astral travel guide, Ramlar X, and boy, had she traveled. She was the queen of the local shamanic drum circle and could cast a protection spell “faster than a coffee enema could clear your Muladhara,” as Mom would say.

  Muladhara was the first chakra, or the root chakra. Anyway, Mom said stuff like that all the time.

  “Gwyneth is a special person,” Derek said. “But even she could never compare to your mother for uniqueness.”

  “Aw.” I kissed him. “Sweet.”

  He ran his hand down my hair and then tugged me close for a hot, thorough, and utterly tender kiss. “I love you, darling.”

  I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you back.”

  He touched my cheek and brushed a strand of hair away from my face, then kissed me once more. “I’ll let you get to the book.” In less than a minute, Derek was already sending out a flurry of texts as he crossed the room.

  “What did we do before we could text?” I asked, as I sat down at the table to study the book.

  “I believe there was something called the telephone,” he said. “It plugged into a wall. Strange, archaic instrument.”

  I laughed, and soon settled into Rebecca. I took it one page at a time, but I was quickly able to get into a rhythm, turning the page, scanning, then moving to the next page. It was a little like speed reading, but I didn’t have to comprehend the meaning of the words, just skim the pages for anything unusual.

  It took twenty minutes, but on pages 314 and 315, I finally found a slew of additional markings. I almost missed them because they were noted in a different way from the earlier pencil marks. Each letter selected on these pages had a tiny dot at the lower corner of the letter that could only be seen if you paid attention to the font style.

  Being a book nerd, I recognized the font as Caledonia. I took my tablet from my backpack and after a little online research I discovered that it was brought to the market in 1938, the year that Rebecca was published in England. As a side note, Caledonia was the ancient name for Scotland. So go figure. I had to smile at that connection, however fragile it was.

  The reason why the font style was important in this case was that certain fonts have a very specific style and if you alter it, it’s almost like scratching a black mark across the page. It was very noticeable and not in a good way. This particular font had what was called a sweep, which was why Dalton didn’t notice the tiny markings when he thumbed through the book.

  I was tickled at the thought that I, the amateur sleuth, had for once bested Dalton, the master sleuth.

  I would keep that news to myself.

  I pulled my magnifying glass from my tool case to make sure I got each letter, and jotted them down in order on a blank page. Then just to be safe, I continued scanning the rest of the book.

  When I was finished, I closed the book and said, “I found more letters.”

  Derek immediately set down his phone, jumped up from the wingback chair, and came over to the table. “Let’s see.”

  I showed him the pages of letters, then opened Google. “I’ll type while you read off the letters.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Ready?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  “F-A-I-G-H-N-I-C-H-D-O-B-H-E-A-T-R-I-C-E-M-U-N-T-R-A-N-N-S-A-D-I-O-M-H-A-I-R-D-O-N-L-O-C-H.”

  As he said them, I typed the letters into Google Translate. It still felt a bit like cheating, but I was okay with it. When he finished, I stared at the results. “I think I screwed up.”

  He leaned over to look at the screen. “What have you got?”

  “Well, the first two words are ask Beatrice. That’s Mrs. Buchanan. So that makes sense because she’s Gwyneth’s good friend. But then all the rest of the letters are piled into one long, nonsensical word.”

  He scowled. “How did Dalton do it?”

  “We had to figure out some of the Gaelic words first. Then Dalton typed them into the translator.”

  “You’re right.”

  We both stared for a long moment at the words in the Google Translate box.

  “The last word is definitely Loch,” Derek said.

  “Okay, I’ll separate that from the rest and we’ll take it one little bit at a time.”

  “Good.” He looked at the screen. “And you should separate Beatrice from the previous word.”

  “Of course.” I did that, and suddenly the mishmash started to look like a sentence.

  “Ask Beatrice . . . hmm.”

  “Right,” he said. “We still need to separate more of the letters into words.”

  “I’ll just start experimenting.”