Death at a Scottish Wedding by Lucy Connelly

Author:Lucy Connelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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Later that afternoon we were to appear in the grand salon, I had no idea which room that was until Mara showed me. A ceilidh dance class had been planned.

In the itinerary, Angie had stated: You will not look like a bunch of drunk Scots on my wedding videos. Attendance is mandatory.

When Mara and I walked in, it was crowded, which was probably a good thing, since Angie didn’t need any more stress. In fact, Mara and I wondered if she’d even show up. The last time I’d checked on her, she’d been sound asleep.

I needn’t have worried. She came in right behind us, with Damien. But she wore no makeup. Her hair was in a short ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she wore jeans and a plain cable-knit sweater.

Her appearance was very un-Angie-like.

“Are you okay,” I whispered.

She turned her back to the crowd and faced me.

“I feel like I’ve been poisoned, bonked on the head, and had my wedding ruined. But Ewan said to keep everyone busy. They want to search the rooms again. Damien and I are doing our part, pretending to carry on for now.”

The more everyone was together, the better. It would be noticeable if someone was absent from the group events.

There was also the fact Ewan had taken me seriously.

“I think everyone would understand if you needed to rest.”

She shook her head. “I think it might be better if Damien and I keep ourselves busy as well. We’ve never fought as much as we have the last twenty-four hours. I’m wondering if our relationship can handle stress at all.”

I took her hand in mine. “You are in extraordinary circumstances. Give him, and yourself, some grace. And think about it. Pretending to be happy and having fun will really make your soon-to-be-father-in-law angry.”

She smiled. “There is that.”

“I know we keep saying this, but don’t make any decisions about your wedding right now. Don’t say anything to anyone who asks. Leave the prying to Mara and myself. We’ll get this figured out for you.”

“After seeing Robbie, I’ve decided to help,” she said.

“Uh.” That wasn’t a great idea. Her life was already in danger.

“No. Don’t say it. I told you that I know most of these people better than anyone else.”

“Right, but don’t get too pushy, okay? Like Ewan said, we don’t want to clue in our killers that we—as in you, me, Mara, and Abigail—are trying to figure out a mystery. Understood?”

“Yes, Vera.”

I laughed at her reference to our favorite television show.

“Now what is ceilidh dancing?”

“It’s a Scottish wedding dance. Sort of like something you Yanks do when someone calls out moves, and you’re all moving at once.”

“Square dancing?”

“Odd name, but yes, I think that’s it.”

“Okay. Do me a favor and look around to see if anyone is missing other than Mr. Carthage.”

“I will.” She moved to the front of the room, where a man I didn’t recognize stood with a fiddle. A tall, lanky man in a kilt stood beside him.

Where had these guys been staying? I hadn’t seen them at any of the events.

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