Page 84 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

“Close your eyes,” I said.

She sighed but did as I asked.

“Start by taking a look in the room where you all were set up in the haunted house. Do you remember seeing anything out of place?”

She shook her head. “We’d worked hard on it. I was so proud of what we’d done. But Duncan was a perfectionist. He wanted to make a few tweaks for the next night. If he’d just come with us to the pub, he might still be alive.” She sniffed, and I realized I was losing her to grief.

“Don’t think about that now. You and Baird left. Did you see anyone as you were leaving that might have been headed upstairs?”

“There were loads of people in and out. I waited in the hall when Baird went back to get my scarf. I’d forgotten it.”

Wait. Baird had been alone with Duncan.

“How long was he gone?” I asked.

“Maybe five minutes,” she said.

That was long enough, but why would Baird kill his best friend? I couldn’t ask her that, as she didn’t seem to consider him a suspect. But was he?

“And they were best friends?”

“Yes, for years. Though I used to joke they were like an old married couple. They constantly bickered and nagged at one another. Two men with strong ideas—and creatives—though in very different ways.”

Her eyes snapped open. “He couldn’t,” she said. “I know where you’re going with that, but he had no blood on him, and he loved my brother. I’m certain it was one of Robert’s men. They stick to him like glue, and I hear he pays them well for their silence in all things. My brother said Robert’s wife would love to know the real man. Always had someone on the side.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. When he was telling me about the evidence he’d been gathering to help Baird, he said Robert had a place here where he brought women. And that his wife had no idea.”

“Men,” I said.

She gave me a weak smile. “Sometimes, yes. My brother could be a cad, but he wasn’t married. And he had a rule against dating married women, which should be a rule for everyone.”

As someone who had been burned in the past, I couldn’t agree more. “You are right about that,” I said.

Someone came through the door. It was a woman dressed as a witch, but this one was dressed in head-to-toe black and wore a mini dress with fishnets. She glanced at us and then approached.

“Isobel, right?” she said.

“Yes,” the other woman said tentatively.

“I’m Marigold MacAllen,” I recognized her then as the head of the local coven. “I was a big fan of your brother’s art. I’m sorry for your loss. He was charming and … well, as I said, I’m sorry.”

I wanted to yell at her to finish that sentence, but it wasn’t appropriate. Did she have an affair with the former artist? It was the way she’d said he was charming that made me wonder.

“Thank you. I really should be going,” Isobel said. “I want to check on what happened to Baird.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll take you back. And Isobel …”

“Yes?”

“If you need anything, I’m here for you. I mean it.”

“Thanks,” she said hesitantly. “I appreciate that.”

I very much wanted to have a conversation with Marigold. It was the tone in her voice, and the way she looked at Isobel, as if she were sorrier than anyone could imagine.

Chapter Twenty-One