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torches."
    "Sounds like a great story for the tourists." Hillary offered a small smile.
    "Dinnae be so quick to dismiss the notion. Legend has it, that if you look into the lights you'll go mad."
    Hillary bit her lip to keep from smiling all out. "Very spooky, but like I said I don't believe in ghosts. Anyway, I should get to bed, what with the funeral tomorrow."
    "Aye, of course," Joan agreed.
    But there was no humor in her face.  Instead, her expression had turned dour.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
Chapter Four
     
    Agnes’s funeral drew a fairly large crowd, a fact that surprised Caid. His memories of her were few, but they all shared a common element; a misery of an old woman who’d alternated between ranting and suspicious. Still, it was a shame when a life was cut short by something as meaningless as a tumble down the stairs.
    Caid shifted his weight from the leg he’d broken in the accident. The damp made it ache. How much longer would the minister drone on, keeping Agnes’s mourners standing in the drizzle staring at an open grave? He shifted again, earning a hard glance from his father&--the closest the man had come to acknowledging him all day.
    Reuniting with his parents had gone as expected. They ignored him and he them. Alex had foolishly tried to fill the awkward silence with inane small talk, until the monosyllabic replies from all parties had forced him to give up.
    Caid looked away from the grave, his gaze settling on Hillary. She stood between Joan and Bristol, of all people. The last time Caid had seen the Inspector, Bristol had been a green constable, catching an eight-year-old Caid throwing stones at passing cars on the motorway. Aside from putting on about ten stone, Bristol had hardly aged in the last twenty years.
    Hillary met Caid’s stare, her eyes narrowing. He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked away. There was no resemblance to the drowned rat he’d met last night. Today, Hillary wore her hair pulled into a twist at the back of her head. A few wayward strands framed her delicately-featured face. Snug black pants molded to the slight swell of her hips. Her black jacket and smoke gray blouse hugged her slender waist.
    He remembered her in those silky, white underthings. Was she wearing something similar today? An equal combination of practical, yet feminine. Or maybe something in black.
    He shifted again.
    A shame, really, that she should be such a man-hating cow. Imagine, implying that he was some sort of pervert.
    He’d truly believed she’d come to his room to seduce him. It had happened before.  A simple misunderstanding. He’d hardly deserved to have her go off on him the way she had. Though, if she knew about his preoccupation with her underwear just now, she might be inclined to disagree. But she didn’t, so what harm could a wee fantasy about Hillary in her bra and panties hurt?
    Of course, in his fantasy she was mute.
    At last the services came to an end and the crowd began to break up. His parents moved away from him, nodding politely as Agnes’s acquaintances expressed their condolences. A wasted effort on behalf of the mourners, if he’d ever seen one.
    “Well, that’s done,” Alex said, coming to stand beside him. “Will you be returning to the house, then?”
    The thought of the next two hours spent with his parents in another awkward silence filled Caid with a strangling claustrophobia. “No, thank you, Alex. I’ll ask Joan for a lift back to the inn.”
    “The solicitor will arrive at Glendon House at four-thirty. Will Joan bring you, or should I fetch you?”
    “I should have driven myself, then I’d have my own car at my disposal.”
    “In the state you were in yesterday? I dinnae think so.”
    “I could have driven up today, on my own.”
    “You could have, but you wouldnae have.”
    Caid smirked. “Aye, maybe.”
    As the crowd slowly dispersed from the cemetery, Bristol approached his parents with Hillary in tow. Caid edged closer to hear them