Page 21 of Death at a Highland Wedding

We look to see McCreadie striding over, Gray’s black bag in hand. He’s smiling until he sees the mother wildcat. Then he starts to glance away before stopping.

“Did the trap not kill her?” he says. “If it did, there ought to be more blood.”

Gray sighs. “And you see it immediately as well. Clearly I should surrender any claim to the title of detective.”

McCreadie claps him on the back. “Do not be so hard on yourself. You are only an amateur, after all. Still learning and all that.”

As Gray grumbles, McCreadie says to me, “You saw it as well then. That is what you were discussing. The mystery of who killed the wildcat, because if there is so little blood, she was killed and posed here, which makes it a homicide.” He purses his lips. “Caticide? Felicide?”

Whatever this is, it’s not our concern. That isn’t because the victim is a wild animal, but because no one will thank us for solving this mystery. It’s Cranston’s land, and his right to rid it of so-called pests. But it’s not as if we have anything else to do, and also not as if we wouldn’t welcome the distraction. So I zip my lips and adjust my skirts to lower myself and examine the cat.

“It could have been better staged,” I say. “Just add more blood, and no one would question it. Meaning the killer either doesn’t know better… or they presumed no one would care enough to look closer. I—”

“The shovel has been obtained.” Sinclair’s voice rings out over the field, and the men both straighten quickly as he approaches. I rise slower.

“I will tend to the cat,” Sinclair says. “The kittens are up at the house.”

“We will handle this,” McCreadie says, reaching for the shovel.

Sinclair frowns and keeps his grip on it.

“We will bury the beast,” McCreadie says.

“No need. I have done far too much hunting to be squeamish, and you need to work on that injured one there.”

“The kitten should rest for a few minutes,” Gray says. “As for the cat here, I was going to use it as a demonstration for Miss Mitchell. She has been learning basic anatomy.”

“Can’t let a good corpse go to waste,” McCreadie says cheerfully. “They are bloody expensive.”

“Er…” Sinclair looks from Gray to me to McCreadie, obviously trying not to judge our hobbies. “I suppose there is no harm…”

“There is not,” Gray says firmly. “It is a lesson for Miss Mitchell, after which we shall bury the beast, and then I will do what I can for the kitten.”

Sinclair shrugs and holds out the shovel. “All right then. I cannot say I mind being relieved of the task. Enjoy…” He trails off, as if realizing that might not be the right word. He clears his throat. “Have a good lesson, and I will see you up at the house.” He starts to leave and then turns. “Follow the same direction back, and you will be fine. There are no other traps between here and the house.”

Gray uses a bit of morphine on the kitten. He has some in his bag—in this era, leaving that out would be like leaving out aspirin or acetaminophen. Once the kitten is woozy, we wrap her leg pending closer examination and we put her aside to rest while we autopsy the wildcat. Or, more correctly, necropsy the cat, that being the word used for an internal postmortem on a nonhuman.

It doesn’t take a complete dissection to realize what killed her, but we want to give the kitten time to fall asleep. Gray wasn’t lying about teaching me anatomy, and we really have only worked on humans, so this is a teaching moment.

As for what killed her…

“Poison!” I say, shouting like it’ll win me a quiz-show jackpot.

“I was going to say that,” McCreadie grumbles. “I was literally opening my mouth to do so, and then I saw you opening yours, and being a gentleman, I let you go first.”

“Of course you did.”

Gray looks heavenward in an expression familiar to any teacher who has had to deal with two very competitive keeners.

“Fine,” I say, moving back on my heels. “Giving you the benefit of the doubt, Hugh, I will let you point out the signs.”

His eyes narrow. “Giving me the benefit of the doubt? Or calling my bluff?”

I smile, showing my teeth. “Either. Both.”

“Fine. There are signs of hemorrhaging in the eyes and vomit in the fur.”

“Correct,” Gray says. “Of course, were this a human patient, I would then be passing on tissue to Isla for confirmation and to narrow down the list of possible toxins. However, as she is here for a holiday and a wedding, that hardly seems appropriate.”