said.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Margot crossed to the fireplace. The castle came into sharper focus as if she had hit the zoom button on her web browser. “The detail’s amazing.” She reached a hand to touch the ivy, then thought better of it. Three hundred year old paintings weren’t meant to be touched. She faced Cat. Hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she recognized the feeling of being watched. That’s what happened when you stood in the presence of a killer.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Your luggage,” Cat said. “Come in,” she called.
The door opened and a young man entered carrying Margot’s luggage. He murmured a hello, then lifted the suitcase onto the stand to the left of the door and set the duffel on the carpet beside it.
He faced them. “Will there be anything else?”
“Hold on, sugar.” Margot started toward the duffel where she kept her money, but Cat lifted a hand.
“No tipping here at Castle Morrison,” she said.
“I don’t mind.”
Cat shook her head. “The caliber of guests who stay here don’t tip.”
“That rich?” Margot asked, as if she didn’t already know the answer. Castle Morrison was a new brand of hotel where the obscenely wealthy squandered their money on the “ seventeenth-century-Highland-experience. ”
“The richest of the rich,” Cat had boasted a week ago when she called to invite Margot to Scotland.
Scottish castles didn’t come cheap—Margot had checked. Castle Morrison sold for three-hundred and seventy-two thousand. Total renovations would set Cat back a cool million, but she would make up the expense in the fees guests paid for the privilege of sleeping in a Scottish castle. A two-week stay ran sixteen thousand pounds—twenty-five thousand American dollars. Cat had a waiting list that stretched into next year. In the next twelve months, she stood to gross twenty-one million dollars.
Helluva business deal, Margot had noted after Cat’s call a week ago. But what woman bought a Scottish castle with the money she inherited from the husband she murdered?
Even better: what murderer invited her cop friend to visit?
“Thank you, Toby.” Cat looked at the bellhop. “That’ll be all.”
He nodded and left, as Cat faced Margot. “You can put your things in the wardrobe.” Cat nodded to a modest built-in armoire on the far wall.
Margot released a sigh. “If I don’t get some rest I’ll get cranky.”
Cat laughed. “And none of us want that.” She crossed to the door. “Come downstairs when you wake up.” She grasped the door handle, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, stay off the balcony. The wrought iron railing is dangerously loose. I don’t want you falling into the water below.”
Margot jerked her gaze onto the French doors that opened onto a balcony. A shiver snaked up her spine, and ex-Deputy Sheriff Margot Saulnier jumped at the soft click of the door shutting.
Chapter Two
Margot turned right and another hallway in the castle stretched out before her, this one in deeper shadow than the last. She glanced behind her. A single sconce created an eerie shadow dance across the stone walls and floor. She startled at sight of a heavy oak door on the corner of the bend in the hallway. The doorway hadn't been there when she’d walked past. Besides, how could a room be built on the corner of two hallways? Margot hesitated, then faced forward, took one step, another, and another until a door came into view on the left.
She stopped at the door, grasped the handle, and pressed down on the latch. The soft click of latch releasing from catch sent a prickle up her arms. In the last two hallways, door after door had been locked. Her fingers trembled on the handle. Well damn, what would the boys back home in Wilkinson County think of Deputy Sheriff Saulnier unnerved by an unlocked door?
Margot released the handle and pressed against the wood, easing the door open. To her right, low flames
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Margot crossed to the fireplace. The castle came into sharper focus as if she had hit the zoom button on her web browser. “The detail’s amazing.” She reached a hand to touch the ivy, then thought better of it. Three hundred year old paintings weren’t meant to be touched. She faced Cat. Hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she recognized the feeling of being watched. That’s what happened when you stood in the presence of a killer.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Your luggage,” Cat said. “Come in,” she called.
The door opened and a young man entered carrying Margot’s luggage. He murmured a hello, then lifted the suitcase onto the stand to the left of the door and set the duffel on the carpet beside it.
He faced them. “Will there be anything else?”
“Hold on, sugar.” Margot started toward the duffel where she kept her money, but Cat lifted a hand.
“No tipping here at Castle Morrison,” she said.
“I don’t mind.”
Cat shook her head. “The caliber of guests who stay here don’t tip.”
“That rich?” Margot asked, as if she didn’t already know the answer. Castle Morrison was a new brand of hotel where the obscenely wealthy squandered their money on the “ seventeenth-century-Highland-experience. ”
“The richest of the rich,” Cat had boasted a week ago when she called to invite Margot to Scotland.
Scottish castles didn’t come cheap—Margot had checked. Castle Morrison sold for three-hundred and seventy-two thousand. Total renovations would set Cat back a cool million, but she would make up the expense in the fees guests paid for the privilege of sleeping in a Scottish castle. A two-week stay ran sixteen thousand pounds—twenty-five thousand American dollars. Cat had a waiting list that stretched into next year. In the next twelve months, she stood to gross twenty-one million dollars.
Helluva business deal, Margot had noted after Cat’s call a week ago. But what woman bought a Scottish castle with the money she inherited from the husband she murdered?
Even better: what murderer invited her cop friend to visit?
“Thank you, Toby.” Cat looked at the bellhop. “That’ll be all.”
He nodded and left, as Cat faced Margot. “You can put your things in the wardrobe.” Cat nodded to a modest built-in armoire on the far wall.
Margot released a sigh. “If I don’t get some rest I’ll get cranky.”
Cat laughed. “And none of us want that.” She crossed to the door. “Come downstairs when you wake up.” She grasped the door handle, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, stay off the balcony. The wrought iron railing is dangerously loose. I don’t want you falling into the water below.”
Margot jerked her gaze onto the French doors that opened onto a balcony. A shiver snaked up her spine, and ex-Deputy Sheriff Margot Saulnier jumped at the soft click of the door shutting.
Chapter Two
Margot turned right and another hallway in the castle stretched out before her, this one in deeper shadow than the last. She glanced behind her. A single sconce created an eerie shadow dance across the stone walls and floor. She startled at sight of a heavy oak door on the corner of the bend in the hallway. The doorway hadn't been there when she’d walked past. Besides, how could a room be built on the corner of two hallways? Margot hesitated, then faced forward, took one step, another, and another until a door came into view on the left.
She stopped at the door, grasped the handle, and pressed down on the latch. The soft click of latch releasing from catch sent a prickle up her arms. In the last two hallways, door after door had been locked. Her fingers trembled on the handle. Well damn, what would the boys back home in Wilkinson County think of Deputy Sheriff Saulnier unnerved by an unlocked door?
Margot released the handle and pressed against the wood, easing the door open. To her right, low flames
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