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“And I feel that the two of us can share as long as the room is fitted with two beds?” Blake didn’t wait for Tony’s response before turning back to Mrs. MacIntosh. “Is that possible?”

How very clever of Blake! Grace felt almost certain he wanted to share a room with Tony to keep an eye on the man. If not for health reasons as he recovered from being mostly dead, then to keep Tony from losing all self-control and revealing himself to Lillias.

Mrs. MacIntosh’s gaze flickered toward Tony before settling back on Blake. “Aye, a nice big room.”

Her voice held a melodic lilt that seemed to settle into the very air. Grace found herself drawn forward. “We hope to visit the castle in the morning. Would you happen to know who we might speak to about gaining access?”

The innkeeper’s expression shifted, her brow creasing. “The castle?” She hesitated. “I wouldnae wish to visit it, if I were you, my lady.”

“And why not?” Frederick stepped to her side, softening his question with a smile of his own. Yes, her darling husband had a wonderfully charming smile too. “Is it not open for tours like other Highland castles?”

“Aye, Mr. Locke, the gardener will give anyone a tour for a fee. Lives in the gatehouse at the end of the village,” Mrs. MacIntosh replied.

But then she leaned in, her pale eyes sparkling with the promise of a tale worth hearing.

“That said, not many visit since Laird Blair passed. No one wants to risk it.”

“Risk?” Blake asked, leaning casually on the counter as if they were discussing the weather. “And whatever should we know about this risky castle, Mrs. MacIntosh?”

Mrs. MacIntosh’s gaze darted over her shoulder before she answered, as if fearing someone might overhear. “It’s haunted.”

“Haunted?” Grace nearly gasped. Could this adventure get any more fantastical?

Blake tilted his head in mock gravity. “A ghost in general, or are we dealing with a very specific kind of ghost, Mrs. MacIntosh?”

“Aye, very specific,” she answered with relish. “The Grey Lady. But we all know who she really is.”

Mrs. MacIntosh’s storytelling instincts were impeccable, pausing long enough to ensure someone asked the question. Frederick obliged with perfect timing. “Not all of us, I’m afraid. I believe you have five thoroughly uninformed visitors as far as this Grey Lady is concerned.”

The innkeeper’s grin widened, her triumph evident as she delivered her answer. “She’s said to be the wife of the former laird, Alistair Blair.”

“The man who drowned in Loch Ness?” Grace clarified.

“Aye,” Mrs. MacIntosh confirmed, lowering her voice. “Her shawl and hat were found floating beside his body, but she herself was never recovered. Some say the kelpies took her. Others believe it was the monster.”

The monster? The Loch Ness monster? Grace’s breath caught. Ghosts and kelpies and sea monsters all in one case. It was almost as if Christmas had come five months early just for her.

“Have you seen this Grey Lady, Mrs. MacIntosh?” Blake asked. “Because I feel as though you are quite the trustworthy sort in all this business.”

“I’ve seen her light at night passing by the windows of the castle when naught a person is within the walls.” The woman nodded to her audience as if to add credibility to her claim. “Most say she’s looking for her husband among the halls because she misses him so.”

“I’m surprised they don’t see her walking the edge of the loch in search of him—or at the very least for her hat and shawl,” Blake murmured, smoothing a hand over his mouth.

Was he hiding a smile? “Remarkable how predictable the supernatural can be. Always returning to the scene of their death, as if they’ve read the script. ”

Frederick cleared his throat and, if Grace wasn’t mistaken, his lips almost tipped into a smile too. “So this ghost only began her haunts after the death of Laird Blair?”

“Aye,” the woman replied. “On full moons some claim to hear her weeping from the battlements. Her hair’s dark and wild about her shoulders, like the wraith she’s become.”

“No wonder she’s searching for her shawl,” Blake whispered at Grace’s side, earning himself a pointed look.

Grace stifled an eye roll and turned to Zahra, who gazed up at her with unwavering seriousness. Thank heavens someone understood the gravity of the situation.

“But she gave us a reprieve for a month.” The woman continued. “So we thought, she’d found her peace, until two nights ago when she was spotted again.”

A month of silence from the ghost?

And then her sudden return two days ago? Two days?

What did Detective Miracle say about coincidences? “Mrs. MacIntosh, did you ever meet Lady Blair?”

The woman’s gaze sharpened on Grace. “Aye, my lady. Not often, mind you. She wasn’t one to mingle among the common folk once she married the laird, but I’d met her before they married and saw her on occasion after.”

“What did she look like? I mean when she was alive.”

At her periphery, she caught Frederick and Blake watching her. Tony had started taking some of the scones from the countertop.

“Like her brother. Dark hair, blue eyes, and face as pale as if death already had a claim on her.”

Grace’s mind snagged on a detail or a thought. Something lingered among this information she couldn’t quite pin down. “You mentioned knowing her before she married. Were she and her brother from the village?”

“No, but they moved here with their parents years ago when they were but children. Their parents passed on from a horrible carriage accident ten years ago, and the village pitched in to help the pair. But Malcolm Kane left not long after, taking his sister with him. He’s become a well-to-do businessman in Edinburgh. ”

And that’s when both Frederick and Blake jerked to attention.

There was the pin.

“Malcolm Kane?” Blake repeated. “And his sister?”

“Moira Kane, God rest her.”

“And has Mr. Kane been back to the village since his sister’s unfortunate demise?” Frederick asked, his very good brain making the connections Grace’s was beginning to form as well.

“Aye, arrived back two days ago from a lengthy business trip.” She gestured toward the door. Again, two days ago? “He stays in his parents’ old home on the edge of the village. A regular at the Loch’s Rest, if you have a mind to try and meet him.”

“I’m always keen to talk business with fellow entrepreneurs,” Blake said, pushing back from the counter. “Especially if it’s about purchasing land.”

“Then he’s the one to talk to. He’s been buying properties near here for six months—places I didn’t imagine folks would ever sell. He seems to be very persuasive.”

“Perfect.” Blake patted the counter, his charming grin firmly in place. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like you to keep my interest in meeting him to yourself, Mrs. MacIntosh. You know how businessmen can be—if they know they have an edge, they’ll take it.”

She sobered and nodded in commiseration with Blake’s statement. “I’ll do just that, Mr. Blake. Now, I can imagine you’re all tired and likely a wee bit peckish. I have some soup and bread I can have sent up to your rooms, if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Frederick said.

“And we only have a few pieces of luggage for tonight,” Blake added, “but more’s on the way from the dock. It should arrive tomorrow, assuming the men keep to schedule.”

“Very good, sir.” Mrs. MacIntosh tapped her temple with a knowing smile. “Me and my husband and our sons, Charlie and Rory, will keep a keek out for them.”

The narrow stairway creaked under their weight as they ascended to the rooms above. Tony disappeared into his shared room with little more than a grunt of acknowledgment, leaving Blake lingering in the hallway. He gestured toward Frederick and Grace’s door, then followed them and Zahra inside.

“I think we may have our culprits,” he said, once the door closed behind them.

“Malcolm and Moira Kane?” Frederick placed his and Grace’s bags on the bed.

“Indeed,” Blake answered.

The firelight cast a low glow across the room, where a large bed stood on one side near a wardrobe and washstand, and a couch and desk waited on the other beneath a long row of windows.

Grace crossed the room, drawn to the view of Mosslea Castle perched on the rocky outcropping.

The moon painted the loch in silver, its reflection shimmering like a second world below.

She’d never been inside a castle. She’d imagined them aplenty—what reader wouldn’t?

But the reality was both breathtaking and eerie.

Especially at night. Especially haunted.

“Any signs of life?” Blake coughed. “Or death, as the case may be?”

Grace threw him an exasperated grin. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet, not wrong,” he quipped, grinning.

She returned her gaze to the castle. “Wouldn’t it be helpful if the ghost joined the search for the will? I’m sure that would speed things along.”

Frederick stepped up beside her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she already has.”

Her husband’s comment sparked a connection. “Do you think she’s like the protagonist of Lady Audley’s Secret ? That woman would do almost anything to gain or keep her social standing and money.”

“Or perhaps a variation,” he mused.

“Or perhaps,” Grace mused, “our naive Mrs. James, the ‘inexperienced’ housekeeper, is actually Moira Kane. And since Laird Blair’s death didn’t transfer the estate to her brother, they’ve concocted an elaborate scheme to claim the land another way.”

“Watson”—Blake moved to her other side and tapped his temple with a grin—”I believe you’ve cracked it.”

“You used the Sherlock reference for my benefit, didn’t you, dear Mr. Blake?” Grace teased.

“If the reference fits, my lady.” He tipped an imaginary hat to both Grace and Frederick before sobering.

“All the same, I hope you’ll keep those sharp eyes and clever heads on high alert.

If our deductions are correct, even if both Kanes do not appear to prefer choosing rather nasty ends to people in order to get what they want, they’re not against it.

Finding the will may be one piece of the mystery.

” He tipped his head toward the castle. “Staying alive may very well be the other.”