Page 48 of The Highland Heist
Lillias squared her shoulders. “There won’t be any complications.”
Grace hoped that to be true.
Mr. Barclay’s lips twitched, a subtle expression that could have been approval or skepticism—or perhaps a mix of both. “Good day, ladies.” He swept from the room.
The door had just closed behind him when Grace sent her sister a quick shrug of apology and rushed out of the room after the man. He’d not made it but a few steps down the hallway and turned at her approach.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barclay, and I’m certain you’ll find this question impertinent, but what happened to Mr. Blair’s wife?”
“His wife?” Mr. Barclay’s brows shot skyward.
“You mentioned his death, but is she still living in Mosslea? Should we be considering her in our decisions?”
Mr. Barclay’s confusion melted into a knowing smile, as if some piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Ah, I see. I didnae make that clear, did I?” He nodded once, then sobered. “It’s a private matter, but since you’ll be inheriting the rumors along with the estate, you ought to know, I s’pose.” He sighed. “She drowned, along with him.”
Grace’s palm flew to her stomach. “Oh no.”
“Aye, it was a sad discovery, make no mistake.” He shook his head. “They’d gone out in a boat to visit the ruins on an island near the house—’twas a favorite picnic spot for the couple, so the house servants say. And on the return, the boat capsized.”
“How awful,” Grace murmured, struggling to process this new detail. “And they couldn’t swim?”
Mr. Barclay hesitated before answering, his gaze growing distant. “I dinnae know if Lady Blair could swim, but the laird could, or so I’m told. They say he tried to save her, but …” He allowed the rest of the sentence to hang in the air like an unfinished thought.
So the heroic sort of drowning? “And the poor servants are the ones who recovered the bodies, I suspect?”
Mr. Barclay flinched at Grace’s directness, or she supposed that was why, but after a moment, he answered. “Laird Blair’s body was found by the servants, aye.”
A wave of foreboding washed over her. “And his wife’s?”
He sighed deeply, as though the weight of the story had followed him all this time. “They found her scarf and hat, as I recall.” He pulled his hat from his head, adjusting it slowly. “Loch Ness takes its own, and they’re none too easy to find beneath those depths.”
With that, he dipped his head and walked down the hall, leaving Grace frozen in place. Loch Ness?
She’d heard of it. Read about it in a few obscure books in her family library about Scottish history, no doubt left there by her mother. But did Mr. Barclay’s revelation mean that Mosslea was close to the mysterious loch and even more mysterious creature?
Grace looked back at the breakfast room door. She should talk to Lillias about everything, but after only a moment’s hesitation, she dashed toward the stairs. First and foremost, she needed to write down every new clue she’d just uncovered and sort out a plan for the next adventure.
Chapter 12
“Lord Astley, I didn’t take you for a gambling man.”
Frederick had only made it a few steps outside The Lucky Coin before Detective Johnson materialized from the shadowy corner of the establishment. The man’s tilted frown spoke volumes.
Frederick was trespassing in unwanted territory.
Johnson’s dark overcoat and bowler hat silhouetted against the overcast sky gave him the look of a villain in one of Grace’s cherished mystery novels.
“I’m not, sir.” Frederick conceded with a smile. “Only visiting on a hunch.”
“A hunch?” A derisive puff of air, like a snort, emerged from the man. “Taking up your wife’s fictionalized mantle or stepping in your friend Miracle’s footsteps by attempting more amateur sleuthing?”
“Amateur?” Frederick allowed the faintest smile. “I assure you, Detective, I leave the professional work to you. But wouldn’t it be better to have more eyes on the lookout than fewer, especially considering the delicate nature of this situation?”
“Delicate? I’ve seen Mr. Dixon’s wound. It was anything but delicate.” One of Johnson’s brows rose in challenge. “One might even consider it inflicted out of passion.”
Frederick held Johnson’s gaze, unflinching. “Do you genuinely suspect my sister-in-law?”
Johnson hesitated, his expression unreadable, before exhaling. “Less likely she wielded the blade herself. But as for her involvement? That remains to be seen.”
