Page 95 of Death at a Highland Wedding

Gray makes a noise. “Perhaps I was wrong then, and Mallory ought not to do this.”

Isla shakes her head. “It is notthatsort of look, Duncan. Not one that speaks of genuine interest. It is contemptuous—a man seeing a pretty girl who would never look twice at him.”

“He finds Mallory attractive and blamesherfor it,” McCreadie says.

Isla’s smile beams the delight of liking a guy who notices and understands things like this. “Yes. A man like Mr. Müller will not think twice about claiming the bloomers belong to some girl he has seduced,especiallyin front of Mallory. He will leap at the chance to horrify and disgust her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that,” I say. “I guess I’m going to speak to Müller with you, Hugh.”

“Would you mind if Isla and I examined the note while you are gone?” Gray says, and his gaze is on me, not McCreadie.

“Knock yourselves out.”

He manages the faintest smile, even if it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I do not think we need to go that far, but we will do our best.”

McCreadie and I leave to speak to Müller. We pass the grazing cows and then hear Müller tramping through the trees. McCreadie heads over, shouting a greeting from enough of a distance that Müller immediately turns on his heel and stalks in the other direction… where he meets up with me, after I slipped around to cut him off.

“You,” he says, with a twist of his lip that confirms Isla’s assessment. His gaze sweeps over me, devouring without pleasure. I am a sweet treat meant for richer men, and he hates me for it, as if I’ve deliberately laid a trap to tease him.

“Detective McCreadie has not had a chance to speak to you,” I say. “He really does need to do so.”

Müller’s jaw works. He wants to barrel past me, but he also must sense McCreadie coming up behind him, and any departure will seem like he’s fleeing. A guy like Müller won’t flee from a man as young, handsome, and polished as McCreadie.

In the end, he turns and spits, the gob landing inches from McCreadie’s boots.

“What do you want?” Müller says.

McCreadie ignores his tone and launches into the usual array of questions we’d ask of a suspect, most of which duplicate what I already asked. Part of that is seeing whether any of his responses have changed, but it’s mostly relaxing Müller’s guard.

If Müller killed Sinclair and is worried that we’re on to him, this interview allays those fears. It’s just standard questions about where he was and what he heard or saw.

McCreadie even gives him a bonus by talking about the wildcat. Not accusing him of killing the beast, but taking another tack.

“Terrible business with the wildcat,” McCreadie says.

Müller stiffens. “He said to get rid of the cat and I did. I laid traps, and it was caught.”

“I mean how Archie treated you,” McCreadie says. “It is obvious that he did not want to upset my sister, and so he tossed you to the wolves, so to speak.”

A thin smile. “You saw that.”

“I did, and I feel as if I should apologize for my sister. You know women. They can be very soft, and we love them for it, but in matters like this?” McCreadie rolls his eyes. “It was a wild beast. A predator. Not a house pet.”

Müller nods, relaxing more. “You understand.”

“Of course. The cat had to be dealt with and you dealt with it. I do appreciate your patience with my sister in that, and your time in speaking to me.”

Müller actually assures McCreadie it was no trouble and wishes him all the best with the investigation. Amazing what a little empathy can do for someone’s attitude. Unfortunately, with McCreadie’s wrap-up, the next part falls on me.

Good cop, bad cop.

And, as long as we’re going that route, I’ll take it a step farther. I walk past McCreadie and start heading back toward the path. He doesn’t miss a beat. He joins me, and it’s only after a few steps that I say, “Oh, I need to speak to Mr. Müller about another matter. I will catch up with you, sir.”

McCreadie nods and continues on, as if completely unconcerned about leaving me with the gamekeeper… though I know he won’t go far before staking out a hiding spot. To help with that, I walk back around Müller, drawing his attention away from McCreadie. Then I crane my neck to look around Müller, as if being sure McCreadie is far enough away.

“I must ask you about these,” I murmur to Müller.

I take the handkerchief from my pocket and open it, revealing the three items. If I had any doubt about who put them under that floorboard, his reaction erases it. Confusion as he tries to see what I’m holding, then recognition as he does, followed by a scowl as his gaze flies to mine.