Page 85 of The Tartan Trap

“It’s so realistic,” Lily insisted.

“Realistic?” Beatrice dropped her fork on her plate. “Do you truly believe that a dinner party would take place with a corpse lying not six feet from the table? How on earth is this realistic in your eyes?”

“Shush,” Lily said. “You’ll wake him.”

“Which is it, Lily?” Beatrice said, leaning forward, her eyes narrowed. “Is he sleeping or is he dead? You must choose.”

“It isn’t my fault that I don’t like looking at a corpse,” she said, her wide eyes still clamped on Lord Lawrence’s sleeping form.

“Goodness’ sakes.” Beatrice picked up the shrimp fork from her place setting and winged it at Lord Lawrence. It pinged off the wood floor right next to his ear.

He jolted straight up, eyes wide. “What?” he shouted.

Lily screamed.

“Do shut up,” Beatrice muttered beneath her breath.

Margaret couldn’t help it; she giggled. Her eyes rose and met Callum’s twinkling gaze.

There was a fizzing in her stomach every time he looked at her. Margaret blamed the setting. For despite the bloodied approximation of a corpse next to them, the low light of the candelabra and the flowers on the table gave the dinner a decidedly romantic ambience—at least to her. Perhaps the sight of Callum in his dinner suit had something to do with it too.

“Well, I suppose it’s well and truly ruined now,” Rachel said. “Calvin, you might as well join us.”

“Looking like that?” Lily protested, her wide eyes blinking.

“Quite right,” Lord Lawrence said. “I shall change my shirt and be back in a trice.”

“Quite the dinner party,” Lord Shaw muttered, “when guests have to bring a change of clothing.”

Rachel turned to him. “Who would you say had done it?”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and took a sip of his wine, looking at Callum. “It couldn’t have been Ettrick’s character, for he’s large enough to hide the body. The scene wasn’t fresh, so we must assume that the killer isn’t strong enough to have picked the man up and disposed of him properly; otherwise, they would have.”

“Properly? Like in the rubbish bin?” Lily asked, a line between her eyebrows.

“Please,” Rachel sighed. “If we start in on the proper disposal of corpses, we’ll be here all night.”

“Right,” Lily murmured, looking dazed. “My mistake.”

“As I was saying,” Lord Shaw said. “It must have been someone who wasn’t capable of moving the body. And I don’t think the killer came down the chimney, either,” he said after another moment.

“Why not?” Margaret swirled the wine in her glass absentmindedly.

“While there was soot on the victim’s boots and face, there were no footprints.”

“Footprints?” Lily repeated dumbly.

“Of course,” Rachel said, slapping the table. “The killer couldn’t have come from the chimney, because there would have been far more ash on the carpet and even on the corpse.”

“Right.” Lord Shaw nodded.

“I naturally suspect the most beautiful woman in the room,” Callum said lightly.

To Lily’s credit, she looked around the table as everyone looked at her. Everyone except for Callum, who raised his eyebrow at Margaret in an accusatory fashion.

Lily finally held up both hands, her eyes wide. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, of course it couldn’t be Lily,” Margaret said. “She nearly fainted at the sight of beet juice.”