Page 67 of Death at a Highland Wedding

Gray turns, lifts the paper, and, before he can say anything, I say, “That works, right?”

“Your mind-reading is improving.”

“Nope, just my Duncan-reading.” I jiggle the club. “Can you come hold it and I’ll take a look.”

He does. I walk over, rise onto my tiptoes, and see that the knobs do indeed line up.

“One more thing.” I grab a pillow and lift it. “Swing as if this is Ezra’s head. I doubt height will change anything, but you might swing differently than I do.”

The knobs still line up. To be absolutely certain, we dust them with some of the lead powder I’d used for fingerprinting. Yep, lead powder. I really try not to inhale.

Once that’s applied, I get an impression of the club end, and it does indeed match. We set that aside for McCreadie to see and evaluate.

“Care for another experiment with the shillelagh?” Gray asks.

“Does it involve clubbing me like a baby seal?”

His brows shoot up. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“Nope. Okay, what do you want to test?”

“Height differential. We know how tall Ezra is. Now that we have what is almost certainly the murder weapon, we can test whether the killer is more likely to be my height or yours.”

We rearrange furniture to get that pillow at Sinclair’s head level. Then we both swing the shillelagh.

Our question isn’t answered as neatly as we might have hoped. The blow came from directly behind, which is not the proper way to swing a shillelagh. The stick is intended for fighting, not sneaking up and clubbing someone. Gray’s natural blow would crack down a little higher on Sinclair’s head. Mine would be lower. That doesn’t rule out anyone except Alice andmaybeViolet.

We finally stop, both slightly winded.

“Okay, so we have a potential weapon and a possible height rangeifthe killer used that weapon. I lifted four sets of fingerprints from it. One matched the prints we took from Ezra. Even if we identify the others, theywon’t point to the killer. Also, there are a whole bunch from one person, and I’m going to guess that’s Archie, which doesn’t help his case.”

“Having a potential weapon is progress,” Gray says as he dabs sweat with a handkerchief. “And while it’s disappointing that we could not definitively narrow down the height of the killer, it does mean we continue to have the full range of suspects to consider.”

“Not sure that’s a plus,” I say. “But okay. Fingerprinting can wait. It’ll be useless until I have Archie’s to exclude. Time to catch up with Hugh?”

“Also tea, as we seem to have missed lunch.”

“Do you want me to see what’s left over from lunch? Skip tea instead?”

He gives me a hard look, and I laugh and then follow him out the door.

TWENTY-TWO

We find McCreadie and tea in the same place—the largest of the sitting rooms, where everyone has gathered.

“I was about to get you,” McCreadie says. “Right after I picked the best cream pastries from this tray. Oh, I do believe Mrs. Hall wanted to speak to you. I could be mistaken, but you ought to go see.”

When Gray only shakes his head and sits down, Edith makes a little noise of affront, as if Gray is being incredibly rude.

“Mrs. Hall does not need to speak to him,” Isla explains. “Hugh is teasing him about missing out on the pastries.”

Edith makes another noise, this one clearly conveying that we all have a very odd sense of humor.

“You do not mind having tea before we talk, do you?” McCreadie says to me as he raises his cup. “Of course not. You will be in no rush to hear anything I might have to say.”

I peer at him. That mood suggests he found something.

“We have something, too,” I murmur as I lean toward him to take a pastry. “But I am certain you can also wait.”