Page 86 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

“OK. Fine. But in the bathroom, she seemed upset by the first Duncan’s death. She made out that she appreciated his art. I can’t help but think it might have been more than that.”

“She isn’t on the list,” he said. His eyebrows came together.

“Of suspects?”

“Right. But she was there that night,” he said.

A lightbulb went off in my brain as I remembered. “She was one of the actors in the witches room.”

He nodded. “They were on the floor below you.”

“But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have gone upstairs. Except …”

“What?”

“Abigail and I did several tests. The angle of the knife meant the killer had to be the same height as Duncan, or maybe even taller.”

“What if he was on his knees? You said there was bruising there.”

“Right, but it was from before. He couldn’t have fallen from his knees into the chair where we found him.”

“OK,” he said.

“It would also take someone quite strong to break through the chest plate. It isn’t that easy, even though the knife was very sharp.”

“Still, I should speak to her. I dread it. If I bring her in, it will only make her angrier and our lives even more difficult.”

“Are you afraid of the little witch?”

“No. More annoyed, than anything.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I have a plan.”

He sighed. “One that isn’t safe, I’m certain. It’s my job to interview suspects.”

“Yes, Mr. Constable, it is your job. But perhaps I could suss her out.”

“Suss?”

“Ask a few innocent questions and get to know the head of the local coven. I’ve always been interested in witchcraft.”

He grunted. “Fine. But be careful. I’m fairly certain she’s a wiz at hexes.”

That made me laugh hard.

Mara was coming off the dance floor with her dentist friend. “Can I borrow your date for a minute?” I asked him. “And great costume.” He was dressed as William Wallace. Face paint and all.

“Thanks, Doc. And yes. I’ll get us some drinks.”

“And desserts,” Mara said. “I’ll meet you at the table as soon as we’re done. Come on Mary.”

The dentist frowned. “I thought you were Mary Queen of Scotts,” he said confused.

“I am. She’s Mary Somerville, can’t you tell?”

“Ah. Yes.” He clearly didn’t. Poor guy. “I’ll get us those desserts and drinks. For you, too, Doc?”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”