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Chapter One

‘One must always be very careful who one chooses to spend Christmas with, Bess.’

Dahlia Lively in A Very Lively Christmas

By Lettice Davenport, 1943

Rosalind

Rosalind King had to admit, it was hard to beat the Scottish Highlands for sheer drama.

On one side, she had the towering mountains and looming hills, on the other the wild waters of the inlets, lochs and rivers that led to the islands hidden in the mists over the Atlantic Ocean. And she had plenty of time to admire both, since Jack was crawling along the winding road at approximately the same pace as a tortoise.

Rosalind crunched another sherbet lemon and made a point of commenting on the scenery rather than their speed. There was enough not said between them already that one more thing wouldn’t matter, and she really wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

Jack grunted, hunched over the wheel of his sturdy, dark grey estate car as he studied the road ahead, windscreen wipers flicking away the occasional snowflake that dared to darken his vision. ‘Not as good as Wales,’ he said.

Rosalind didn’t bother disagreeing with him. The cushion pressed into the small of her back could only do so much after so many hours of driving, and she knew just getting out of the car when they reached their destination would be difficult enough. Hopefully Jack would be in a good enough mood to help her up by then.

Rosalind had always believed that with age came wisdom – the wisdom to know oneself, at the very least. She just wished that wisdom didn’t also come with so many aches and pains.

Eventually, the hills and roads began to look familiar, at last, and she straightened in her seat. ‘Not far now. The village of Dunwick should be just around the next bend. From there, it’s not far to the castle.’

The area around Dunwick Castle had been stunning in the summer sun – and still beautiful even in the inevitable Scottish summer rain, too. In the icy cold of deep December, with the clouds gathering overhead, it felt more mysterious, maybe even exciting. Still, Rosalind was glad she’d packed her favourite cashmere wrap for the chilly evenings. She’d bought one each for Caro and Posy, too – a practical but beautiful Christmas present. And if Jack’s eyes had widened at the sight of the price tags, well. It wasn’t his money, was it?

And despite his suggestion, she was not going to buy them both a fleece-lined onesie in a festive print instead from the site he’d found online.

Last Christmas, their first Christmas as a sort of couple, had been easy. Nothing had really been concrete between them then – after everything that had happened in Wales, and then the filming again in Scotland, it had been a busy year. They’d taken the odd weekend to get to know each other again after so long, and exchanged gifts the week before Christmas Day in a rather lovely hotel somewhere on the coast, but she’d spent Christmas itself with Posy at Caro and Annie’s house.

This year, everything was different. There was no denying they were in a proper relationship now, and had been probably ever since they spent New Year together at her place in London. The fact that her first thought, when Libby had mentioned a Christmas wedding, was to wonder how Jack would feel about spending Christmas in Scotland, spoke to that.

Somehow, despite vowing to herself after the events at Aldermere two years prior that she would enjoy her twilight years alone, or with friends, doing whatever the hell she liked, thank you very much . . . somehow, she’d found herself in another relationship. A serious one.

And she liked that, she did. She enjoyed spending her time with Jack, valued his company, and honestly, having great sex into her sixties wasn’t something to be sniffed at either. It was just . . . an adjustment. That was all.

Jack followed the road around the bend and then, suddenly, there was the village of Dunwick laid out before them. The bunting and brightly coloured awnings of the summer had been replaced by twinkling lights and a large fir tree by the cross. And as they passed the village square, Rosalind spotted wooden cabins with signs for spiced wine and gingerbread.

‘A Christmas market! We’ll have to get Libby to bring us back here before the wedding. Maybe we can even find them a present . . .’

‘I thought they said no gifts on the invitation,’ Jack said. ‘Else you’d have bought one by now. God knows the boot is half full of Christmas presents.’

‘They did,’ Rosalind admitted. ‘It just doesn’t feel right to show up to a wedding without at least a small gift.’ What was the point of making all this money if she couldn’t spend at least some of it on those she cared about? Besides, wedding gifts were traditional. They were standing as Libby’s family for this wedding – how would it look if they didn’t give them anything?

‘They’re going to be living in a castle,’ Jack pointed out. ‘He’s a laird, whatever that means these days. I think they’ve probably got all they really need, don’t you?’

‘I suppose.’ Rosalind settled back in her seat as they turned out of the village and onto the road that led between the waterways towards Dunwick Castle.

She’d last seen Libby and her fiancé, Duncan, that summer at the premiere for The Lady Detective, the movie they’d filmed – eventually – at Dunwick Castle eighteen months earlier. They’d certainly seemed happy and content with their lot then – a giant diamond sparkling on Libby’s ring finger, and matching smiles on both their faces.

But then they’d moved up to the castle full time, and by the time Rosalind, Caro and Posy had received their wedding invitations, all hadn’t seemed quite so sparkling.

Ever since I moved in here at the castle, after we got engaged, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something . . . wrong. More than that . . . well. I’ll tell you when you get here.

That was what Libby had written in the note that accompanied the invite. And it was enough to get all three Dahlias packed and up to Scotland a few days ahead of the wedding, just in case they were needed.

Two and a half years after they first met, the three Dahlias – Rosalind King, Caro Hooper and Posy Starling – had solved three murder cases, and become family. Most importantly, they’d learned that when things felt wrong, they usually were.

If Rosalind and her friends were famous for playing the fictional lady detective, Dahlia Lively, on screen, Libby McKinley was famous, too, in film circles, at least. She was the screenwriter who’d saved the movie of The Lady Detective. She’d also been too close to murder before, at Aldermere, and the Dahlias trusted her instincts.

One final bend, and Dunwick Castle came into view. Crenellations, turrets, balconies and all. The whole building was a mishmash of styles and structures that looked as if generations of the Alexander family who owned it had simply added whatever they fancied to the building, without any concern for what was already there. Which, now she thought about it, was probably what had happened.

The bizarre collection of building stages and the sloped ground of the island meant the inside of the castle was filled with small staircases and odd mezzanine levels. It had looked charming and quirky on the big screen, Rosalind reflected. Now she just hoped that her and Jack’s room wasn’t on one of the upper floors. Her back would be certain to protest, if it was.

‘Blimey O’Reilly.’ Coming from Jack, Rosalind took that to mean he was impressed.

‘It’s certainly something, all right,’ she agreed. But she couldn’t help frowning at the sight of the castle, looming up high on its isolated island between two inlets from the sea and a loch inland that joined them. Its only link to the mainland was a long, stone bridge, barely wide enough for a single car. They’d ended up bringing much of the larger filming equipment around by boat, she recalled, which had proved something of a palaver.

It had still been easier than the original film set in Wales, though.

But while in summer, Dunwick Castle had been a relief, a retreat, a cool and welcoming place to film after the horrors of the original shoot, now it looked foreboding. Frightening, even.

And that was before she spotted the police presence on the beach below the castle.

A shiver ran through Rosalind’s spine, and Jack reached over to turn the heater up on her side of the car. She smiled her thanks, unable to find the words to explain that it wasn’t the cold than had made her quiver.

Libby. Her first thought hit without reason or consideration. Libby was scared and now there were police and the terror Rosalind felt for her friend pulsed through her veins.

But no. Libby had texted her, not half an hour ago, when she’d messaged to update their planned arrival time. There were no sirens here, and they hadn’t passed any on the road. Whatever had happened here had happened long before then, surely?

So why didn’t she feel reassured?

‘What do you think that’s all about?’ She pointed through the windscreen, down to the beach, and Jack frowned, his knuckles turning a little white on the wheel.

‘I’m not sure.’ But she could tell from his voice that he intended to find out.

Good. She needed the reminder, right now, of why she fell in love with him. And she did always love it when he pulled out his old detective inspector swagger and found things out for her.

The gates at the end of the bridge were already open, and Jack pulled around to the small parking area beside the castle. There was no sign of Caro’s red sports car, so Rosalind assumed she and Annie hadn’t arrived yet. Posy and Kit were flying in to Glasgow, then getting a car to bring them to the castle. Annie had wanted to take the train, Caro had told them, but in the end Caro had won that argument. Looking up at the stone of the castle walls, forbidding against the winter sky, Rosalind wondered if they wouldn’t be glad of having two cars between them, to explore elsewhere while they visited.

Maybe that was what was getting to Libby. Being cooped up here in winter would surely be enough to turn anyone paranoid. Beautiful though it was, Dunwick Castle was frightfully isolated, in a way that hadn’t seemed clear when it was being used as a bustling film set, with the fields surrounding the village over the bridge filled with trailers and vans, an extra community sprung up among the heather, just a short walk away through the woods.

There was no one waiting to meet them, so it was easy enough to slip down the steps that led to the beach below – and the police officers – without being stopped. Jack went first, holding out a hand for Rosalind to take to steady her own descent. The steps – all thirteen of them, she counted – were slick with half-melted snowflakes and moss, and she was glad of the assistance, not that she’d admit it. The wind whipped past them, icy cold and threatening more snow, and Rosalind wished she’d thought to get her hat and gloves from the back seat before venturing down. Not to mention her specially purchased waterproof and windproof wax jacket. Her wool coat wasn’t doing much for keeping her warm, as lovely as it looked.

On the beach itself, they were stopped almost instantly by a uniformed officer guarding the perimeter. ‘I’m sorry, sir, madam, I can’t let you go any further. I’m afraid this beach is out of bounds for the time being.’ She managed to look serious, firm and also kind in one go, which Rosalind admired.

‘Of course, of course,’ Jack said, pleasantly. ‘Only . . . I’m an ex-DI myself, and I still help out my local force from time to time. I was wondering if I could have a quick word with whoever’s in charge here . . .’

Rosalind hung back while Jack played the ex-copper card, and took in the scene instead. Police tape flapped in the wind, and a small row boat sat, overturned, within the boundaries it marked out. Scene of crime officers were tagging and photographing everything, but there was no sign of any other people involved in the case.

So. Drug smuggling? Missing person? Or . . . no. There, just beyond the boat, she saw something else marked out, in the shape of a body.

Suspicious death, then, she’d bet. But the body itself was already gone, which suggested it had been found some hours ago. Not something Libby had mentioned in her excited wedding texts.

It wasn’t long before Jack rejoined her, nodding a last thank you to the female officer as he led Rosalind back to the steps.

‘Well?’ She raised her voice a little over the wind.

‘A body washed up here this morning, along with the row boat,’ Jack said. ‘Nobody up at the castle recognised him, so they’re asking around the village now. Looks like he bashed his head on something – probably the boat – then drowned. But they’re doing a post-mortem now to be sure. Apparently this coastline is ripe with smugglers – of all kinds – so I imagine that’s the way their investigation will lean if nobody claims him.’

‘Hmm.’ Rosalind glanced back down the steps, wondering. Maybe they could ask some questions in the village, too – her, Caro and Posy, she meant. It did seem a little too coincidental, a body washing up right below the castle on the day they arrived, after Libby’s concern that something strange was going on there. It wouldn’t hurt to just look into it a little.

She had come to realise that she far preferred a good investigation to wedding preparations, anyway. Part of that with-age-comes-wisdom thing. A satisfactorily solved mystery was a joy forever. These days, marriages were lucky if they managed a year or two, in her experience.

Well, apart from Caro and Annie. And that was only because Annie was an angel in human form. She had to be, to put up with Caro for so long.

She wondered what Caro would make of the body on the beach. And Posy, for that matter. They should be there soon and they could—

‘Stop it,’ Jack said, as they reached the top of the stairs. When she gave him her best innocent look, he only rolled his eyes. ‘I know what you’re doing, and you can stop it now. The police have this one all in hand, and he’s nothing to do with the castle or your friends, anyway.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Rosalind lied.

‘Oh yes you do.’ He reached out for her arm and tugged her closer, the warmth of his body a welcome break from the chill of the wind. ‘This is a trip for romance, not murder, okay? We’re here for a wedding, to celebrate true love, and Christmas – that’s all. So forget all about the body on the beach, please. Besides, you’ve got a much more important question to ponder, haven’t you?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Have I?’ As if she could forget.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ He pressed a kiss against her cold lips, then let her go, walking backwards along the path to where the car was parked. ‘Don’t forget, you promised me an answer on Christmas Day. It’s the only present I want this year!’

Rosalind smiled weakly, as he turned away to unload the car.

If only she was certain it was a gift that she could give.

Caro

‘Okay, well this definitely isn’t Dunwick Castle.’ Caro stared up at the hotel sign hanging over the revolving doors.

At her side, Annie peered up through the late afternoon gloom, too. ‘No. Apparently this is the Castle Hotel, Dunwick. So . . . close?’

‘The satnav must have got confused.’ Far easier to blame the technology than admit she’d probably put the wrong coordinates in. When they travelled together, Annie was in charge of driving – because she got car sick as a passenger – and Caro did navigation. Usually she did a good job – well, as good a job as the satnav would allow. But she’d been half awake this morning when they had left the hotel they’d stayed at the night before, and they’d stopped at a few places on their way, to make the most of their road trip. Their last stop had been for a delicious but rather heavy lunch at this pub in the middle of nowhere that Annie had seen in the Guardian and . . . well, Caro might have closed her eyes for a little nap afterwards.

Annie had never been to Dunwick Castle, of course, so had to trust the instructions from the soothing lady on the satnav – which had brought them here. To the Castle Hotel, Dunwick. Which did not appear to be in Dunwick village itself. If it had, Caro was certain she could have recognised their route from there. As it was . . .

‘Shall I go in and ask for directions?’ Annie suggested.

‘We’ll both go. Come on.’ Maybe there’d be a bar. It looked like the sort of hotel to have a good one. A gin and tonic could be just the thing to wake her up.

The Castle Hotel was a wide and squat, grey stone building with very un-castle-like glass doors, but what its exterior lacked in kerbside charm, the interior was trying very hard to make up for in tartan ribbons, Christmas trees and garlands of greenery strung everywhere.

One particularly large tree – decorated with miniature lanterns and tartan bows, plus a few Loch Ness Monster and Highland cow decorations that were for sale on request – blocked the way to the reception counter. Annie joined the queue at the concierge desk, and sent Caro to the bar for drinks – a task she was happy to perform.

The hotel bar boasted dark wood panelling and black and white pictures of local landmarks – and a large, pull up stand advertising local tourist spots, including a special highlight of the actual Dunwick Castle with the note ‘filming location for The Lady Detective movie!’ The speaker system was playing Christmas carols with added bagpipes, and there was mistletoe hanging over the bar.

Caro pulled out her phone to snap a photo of the advert to show Libby later, only to hear a large, balding Scotsman scoff at her touristy ways as he passed her.

She found herself behind the same man at the bar, ordering a pint for himself and a glass of wine for his wife. She, in contrast to her husband, was petite, with perfectly styled blonde hair, and a warm smile.

‘Medium or large?’ the bartender asked.

‘Large,’ the wife said, at the same moment as her husband said, ‘Medium.’

They looked at each other, then the wife shrugged and backed away. ‘Medium,’ the guy repeated. ‘I’ve got a damn roof to pay for, not to mention the exorbitant room rates here at this time of the year. And you know she’ll want the lobster at dinner. Women, eh?’

Luckily, his wife wasn’t listening – or maybe she’d just heard it so many times before that it didn’t even register any longer. She smiled at Caro in that sort of embarrassed, sort of apologetic way Caro vaguely remembered from her first marriage. But then her eyebrows knitted together as she looked closer.

‘Wait. Aren’t you Caro Hooper?’ As she came closer, beaming and holding out her hand, Caro had the strangest feeling that she recognised her, too. ‘Keri Blackwell. Used to be Keri Chapman.’

‘Keri Chapman the singer?’ Caro shook her hand. ‘Didn’t we do that breakfast show together back in, oh, 2006 or 2007?’

‘When I was staging my great come back,’ Keri said, wryly. ‘I’m surprised you remembered. Nobody else even seemed to notice!’

It had been just after The Dahlia Lively Mysteries took to the air, Caro remembered now. She’d been the rising star then, Keri the ex-eighties pop star launching a second-wind career as an interior designer or something, based on her husband’s family mansion in the Highlands. They’d shown a sequence of photos on the screen during her segment, each of them featuring Keri with one or both of her children, growing from adorable toddlers into refined and well-turned-out teens, and proving she was a family woman now, rather than the wild child society remembered her as.

‘Are you here for Christmas?’ Caro asked.

Keri shrugged helplessly. ‘It looks like. Our home was damaged in the storms last week, so we’ve moved out while the repairs are done. We would have gone overseas, enjoyed some winter sun while we can, but we’ve a wedding to attend on Christmas Eve—’

‘At Dunwick Castle?’ Caro guessed. ‘Us too. Libby’s a dear friend.’

‘Of course! I read all about your exploits in the papers. Strange to think of sweet Libby being part of all that!’ Keri ushered her husband over to join them as they settled into a table by the fire and Annie, entering the bar, rolled her eyes and went to fetch them drinks.

‘Our son, Jamie, is Duncan’s best man,’ Keri went on to explain. ‘You’re heading to the castle tonight? Oh, well you’ll meet him, then! And our daughter, Bonnie – her husband, Allen, is groomsman. Those three boys used to get into such scrapes together at university!’

‘One woman’s “scrapes” is another man’s “stupidity”,’ her husband – who she’d introduced as Georgie – grumbled, but it seemed fairly good natured. Caro almost got the impression that he was playacting the role of the stereotypical dour and mean Scot. There was a hint of pride in his voice when he talked about his son, and Caro couldn’t help but notice that Keri’s wine was actually a large one after all.

Annie joined them with their drinks, and Caro settled in for a last chance to relax before the wedding. She’d never really been a fan of other people’s big days, and Libby’s obvious nerves made her apprehensive about this one. She’d liked Duncan well enough when they’d met, but she couldn’t say she really knew him. And if a bride felt something was wrong before her wedding, in Caro’s experience it was usually a problem with the groom.

‘Oh! But did you hear about the body on the beach at Dunwick this morning?’ Keri leaned across the table, her voice a little lower as she asked.

‘A body?’ Caro felt a small frisson of excitement buzz through her at the thought of another investigation. She couldn’t help it; she was a Dahlia, after all. When she looked up, though, Annie had a firm ‘no, Caro’ written all over her face.

Shame. A nice little murder case would probably have taken Libby’s mind off her nerves, at least.

‘Oh yes, a dead body,’ Keri clarified, apparently for dramatic effect. ‘Looks like the poor man tried to row across the loch from the village or somewhere and capsized and drowned! He washed up there this morning. Not a very auspicious start to a wedding week, is it?’

‘That sea loch is a lot more dangerous than it looks,’ Georgie said, between sips of his pint. ‘Many’s the tourist who’s tried for a nice little jaunt out on the loch and found themselves tipped over with a lungful of water.’

‘It was a tourist?’ Annie asked. It sounded like an innocent question, but Caro knew what she really meant. A tourist would have nothing to do with Dunwick Castle, or Libby and Duncan, and so Caro would have no reason to go poking her nose into the case.

‘That’s the funny thing.’ Keri gave a puzzled frown, or at least an attempt at one. Caro noticed her forehead didn’t seem to move all that much. ‘Nobody seems to have been able to identify him yet. From what I heard in the village this morning—’

‘Obviously very reliable intel,’ Georgie put in.

Keri ignored him. ‘Nobody at the castle knew him, and none of the B & Bs in the village have him down as a guest.’

‘Probably one of those wild campers. I know Bill and Duncan have had problems with them on their land, and we sure as hell have.’ Georgie seemed indignant about Other People wanting to stay on his property. ‘We own Kinley House, across the loch from Dunwick Castle, you see.’

Annie clapped her hands together. ‘Of course! I remember seeing pictures of it in one of my home magazines. It’s a beautiful home.’

‘It was,’ Keri said, with exaggerated emphasis. ‘God only knows what it will look like once all the storm damage is cleared. Although, I suppose if it’s all ruined, that means I get to use the insurance money to do it up all over again . . .’

Georgie groaned, and headed back to the bar for another pint, and Annie and Keri began a discussion about the best places to buy curtains, so Caro allowed herself to sit back and consider all the reasons a man from nowhere might climb into a row boat in the middle of the night to sail across a loch.

Chapter Two

Dunwick Castle is, all at once, a beautiful architectural example of varying periods, and a perfect one of none. Rather, it is a strange collage of the whims of generations of the Alexander family, cast into stone, on a peculiarly isolated island on the west coast of Scotland.

Indeed, as one observer on our trip pointed out, ‘I suppose it has to be impressive, or nobody would bother coming all the way out here to see it.’

By Reid Gregory, published in Adventure Awaits travel magazine, 2006

Caro

Darkness had fallen by the time Caro and Annie finally arrived at Dunwick Castle, rather than the Castle Hotel, Dunwick – but being that it was December in Scotland that only meant it was around five in the afternoon. The last part of the journey around the loch had been slow and tedious, and even the very final stretch had been annoying when they’d had to reverse back down the single track path that led through the woods to the castle bridge to allow a police car to pass them.

But they’d made it, at last. For better or for worse.

‘I always wondered what it would be like to spend Christmas with Dickens’s ghosts,’ Annie murmured, staring at the large, brass door knocker in the shape of a lion that held a ring in its mouth. Looking up at the castle in the gloom, Caro could kind of see her point. ‘Now I guess I’m going to find out.’

Caro elbowed her before pulling on the heavy chain to ring the bell instead of using the door knocker. Just in case. ‘It’s perfectly lovely inside.’

‘Must cost a fortune to heat, though,’ Annie observed.

The doors opened, and they were welcomed warmly by a woman who looked to be in her early sixties, with wide grey streaks spread liberally through her still dark hair. ‘Caro, darling! It’s so lovely to have you back here.’

‘It’s lovely to be here – especially under such festively romantic circumstances.’ Caro placed the obligatory two kisses on the woman’s cheeks, then turned to Annie to perform introductions. ‘This is my wife, Annie. Annie, this is Nora Douglas, the mother-of-the-groom.’

‘I’ve heard so much about you, dear,’ Nora said, as she held Annie’s shoulders and kissed her, too. ‘It’s so good of you all to come up here and stand in as dear Libby’s family.’

‘We think we’re very lucky that she considers us family,’ Caro replied. ‘And, of course, we wouldn’t miss the wedding for the world. I like to think I had a hand in bringing the happy couple together, after all.’

‘I’m sure you do, dear.’ Caro couldn’t quite read the look Nora gave Annie, but she heard Annie stifle a laugh so it was probably at her expense.

Inside, the entrance hall of the castle sparkled with strings of lights. The stone floor was covered in intricate, jewel-coloured rugs, and the dark wood of the banister, curving up to a balcony with wooden balustrades, was wrapped in festive greenery with bright red berries and tartan bows at regular intervals. There were no novelty decorations here; everything was classic and classy, from the large, crystal chandelier with electric candles to the roaring fire in the fireplace. In the curve of the stairs on the ground floor stood an enormous Christmas tree that reached up almost the full two storeys to the ceiling of the balcony above. Strangely, it was strung with lights and a few tartan ribbons, but most of the branches remained bare, in stark contrast to the Christmas-ness that filled the rest of the hall.

Caro dropped her bags to the floor. ‘Are the others here yet?’

‘Rosalind and her handsome policeman arrived a little while ago,’ Nora informed them. ‘I believe Libby took them for tea and cake in the lower turret room. Let me take you to them – just leave your bags there for now. Ah! Elsbeth.’

A younger woman, early to mid-thirties if Caro had to guess, with flaming red hair and a trim figure, was descending the stairs. She looked pale in the lights from the wall sconces; or maybe that was just from living in Scotland in the winter.

‘Everything all right, Nora?’ Unlike Nora, Elsbeth had a strong Scottish brogue. ‘I was just checking in with all the suppliers ahead of the weekend. I know the wedding planner did that already but, well, with the weather coming in I wanted to make sure that everything was ready.’

‘Very sensible,’ Nora praised her. ‘And how about Libby’s dress?’

‘I collected it this morning and it’s hanging up in her room; the final alterations are done and it’s been pressed and steamed all ready for Sunday.’

‘A Sunday wedding is unusual, I know,’ Nora said to Caro and Annie. ‘But it is Christmas Eve, and the minister is an old friend and retired now, so he agreed to do it.’

‘It helps when you have your own chapel, I imagine,’ Annie said, cheerfully. On the stairs, Elsbeth hid a grin.

‘It does indeed.’ Nora turned towards Elsbeth again. ‘Now, did you put the necklace with the dress? When I looked in my jewellery case I couldn’t find it, and Libby must have it to wear down the aisle. Every Alexander bride for generations has worn those diamonds.’

Caro rather thought that if she had lost a diamond necklace, she’d be more worried about the financial implications than the traditional ones. But then, she didn’t have her own chapel or castle, either.

‘I took them in to be cleaned when I dropped off the dress, but they won’t be ready until tomorrow. Don’t worry, Nora, everything is perfectly under control.’ With a last smile, Elsbeth disappeared off down a passageway that Caro vaguely remembered led to the kitchens.

Nora shook her head. ‘We used to have such a vast staff here at the castle, but it has dwindled rather over the years. Even Elsbeth, our housekeeper, and our cook don’t live in these days – no need, really, when usually it’s just me and Bill here. And Duncan and Libby now, of course, if they decide to stay on after the wedding.’

‘Do you think they will?’ Annie asked. ‘I mean, it’s such a beautiful place to live.’

It was the right thing to say, as Nora’s face lit up in a smile. ‘It is, isn’t it? And Bill has such wonderful plans for the castle and the grounds – using it for your film was only the beginning. He’s got us registered with all sorts of location services now. We’re even looking at weddings – assuming this one goes well! Then there’s the new glamping pods out in the woods, and plans for all sorts of other things. I really can’t keep up!’

‘Are many of the other wedding guests staying with you?’ Caro asked, thinking of Keri and Georgie down at the hotel.

‘Some will be, but for most we’ve arranged accommodation at the Castle Hotel or down in the village. With so much going on, you don’t want too many people underfoot, do you?’ Nora glided towards a small set of three or four stairs that took them up a short way to a mezzanine level, glancing back to make it clear she expected them to keep up.

‘And God help any of them if they’re in a wheelchair,’ Annie murmured as they followed.

Caro nodded her agreement. The castle was hardly very accessible.

‘My daughter, Fiona, is home for the wedding – and Christmas, of course. And Duncan’s godmother, Margot, will be arriving at some point today. She was the second cousin of my first husband, Duncan’s father, but since he passed she’s grown very close to Bill and me, too.’ Nora swept down a long passageway with tall, narrow windows carved into the stone, which looked out over the surrounding water. She paid no attention to the view, but Caro noticed Annie was captivated by it. She tugged on her wife’s arm to pull her along.

‘I promise I’ll get Libby to give us the guided tour later,’ she murmured, slipping her hand into the crook of Annie’s arm.

Nora was still ticking off guests on her fingers as she walked. ‘Duncan’s best man, Jamie, is staying here too – has been for the last couple of nights, in fact, thanks to last week’s storms.’

‘We met Keri and Georgie at the Castle Hotel on our way here,’ Annie said. ‘They mentioned their roof problems.’

Nora shook her head, sadly. ‘Kinley House is as old as this place – well, some parts of it anyway. But if you spend all your money making a place look good in magazines but fail to fix the roof, well, what can you expect? Anyway. So that’s Jamie, his sister Bonnie and her husband Allen, who is also standing up with Duncan as a groomsman, apparently. He’s American. And Elsbeth is staying between now and the wedding to keep everything here running smoothly. But I think that’s it!’

Caro gave a low whistle. On top of Duncan’s parents and the Dahlias, that was a lot of people. ‘Quite the houseful. Or, well, castle-full, I suppose.’

Nora waved a hand. ‘Oh, we’ve opened up some extra rooms on the second floor, but there’s plenty of space. And we’ll be using the banqueting hall for the wedding reception – there’s a path up to it straight from the chapel, and it’s rather separate from the family rooms, so that should work well. Ah! Here we are.’

She opened up a wide, curved wooden door to reveal a circular room with windows around a third of the walls, looking out over the sea. This must be the ground floor of one of the turrets they’d seen jutting out from the main castle building.

In fact, Caro thought she vaguely remembered this room from the movie, although it was clear that the set designers had worked their magic to make it fit the period. Gone were the dark and panelled walls and 1930s furniture, not to mention the gramophone. Instead, Nora had decorated the space in bright and airy neutrals with comfortable modern furniture that looked at odds with the stone walls and heavy dark wood of the hallway. A small fire had been set in the stone fireplace, and it added a cheery glow to the evening gloom.

The whole castle seemed brighter, more modern than she remembered, in fact. Still classically styled, but fresh. Caro suspected that was where a lot of the money from the hire of the castle for filming had gone.

Libby jumped up from her seat on the sofa to embrace them both, followed a little more slowly by Rosalind and then Jack. They’d driven up in one day, rather than breaking their journey as she and Annie had, and Caro imagined Rosalind’s back was probably playing up by now. Something that would hopefully be solved by pre-dinner cocktails before very long.

By the time the hugging was done, the door was shut and Nora had discreetly retreated, leaving them to their reunion.

‘Mince pie?’ Libby gestured to the plate of the festive treats on the coffee table.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Caro took a pie, a seat, the glass of sherry Rosalind poured her, and looked around the room. ‘Now. While we’re waiting for Posy and Kit, what’s all this about a dead body on your beach?’

Posy

Posy was rather relieved when Duncan offered to meet them at the airport. Kit’s filming schedule had meant that driving up from London would have been cutting things far too fine and while Caro had offered her a lift up with them so Kit could follow later, Posy hadn’t been able to face another lengthy journey in the back seat of Caro’s tiny red sports car. Not to mention the fact that Caro and Annie planned to stop for a night or two on the way, and visit a few antique emporiums en route. Posy had pictured herself pinned to the back of the car by an antique grandfather clock and promptly booked plane tickets for both her and Kit from London to Glasgow.

Finding a car service willing to pick them up from Glasgow airport and drive out to Dunwick Castle, however, had proved more of a challenge. It was rather out of the way, and close to Christmas, she supposed. Luckily for them, Duncan had business in the city that day, and had been happy to wait around to take them back with him.

‘Duncan!’ Posy wrapped her arms around the groom-to-be in a huge hug. ‘It’s been forever. How are you? How’s Libby?’

‘Amazing, as always,’ Duncan replied, taking her bag. ‘She’s been incredible up at Dunwick – organising the wedding, dealing with Mother – who, as you can imagine, has very firm ideas about our wedding.’

Posy knew Nora only a little – she hadn’t been around for much of the filming, and Posy had been rather busy playing the lead – but well enough to imagine that she would be quite the force of nature when it came to wedding planning. She was also pretty sure she was exactly the sort of person to refer to her son’s wedding as ‘ours’, in a possessive and controlling way, rather than a creepy incest way.

‘I can imagine,’ Kit murmured, hiding a smile. Posy ducked her head so as not to smile back.

‘But Libby just takes it all in her stride,’ Duncan went on. ‘She deals with my sister Fiona’s sulking about bridesmaids dresses, and Elsbeth the housekeeper fretting about guests and rooms, and Bill wandering in talking about God knows what – I think it was antlers in the banqueting hall last week. And she copes with my mother, just, you know, generally. Even when my best man and my groomsman came to stay almost a week early, she was totally calm about it all. She’s just . . . incredible.’

‘She is that,’ Posy murmured. Most of all because, in her bag, she had a letter that told her that Libby was categorically not calm about it all. But somehow it seemed she hadn’t let on about these fears to Duncan.

Something else for them to discuss when she finally got to Dunwick Castle.

The drive took a couple of hours, which was mostly filled with Duncan talking excitedly about the wedding – while also trying to put an optimistic gloss on all the pre-wedding planning problems they’d run into since he and Libby had moved home to the castle. Starting with an unavailable cathedral, ‘but that’s fine, because Libby would rather a small wedding at the chapel at Dunwick anyway,’ moving through a caterer who gave everyone food poisoning at their tasting day, ‘we found someone else, though, and honestly, we’d rather a simple menu than the complex layered-fish thing that made us sick,’ and onto the disagreement between Libby and Nora about appropriate wedding flowers, ‘apparently red and white flowers together signify death?’

Finally, they reached Dunwick Castle, as the moon rose over the single turret on the side closest to the sea.

‘Are you okay to grab the bags?’ Duncan asked. ‘Libby texted earlier to say there was some new hiccup here, but she’d fill me in when I got back and, well . . . I haven’t seen her since yesterday.’

They assured him they’d be fine, and watched him race towards the castle door.

‘Promise me we never have to get married,’ Posy murmured to Kit, as they hauled their bags from the boot.

‘Celebrities are six times more likely to divorce in the first year than ordinary couples,’ Kit replied. ‘You’re probably right. Better not to chance it.’

Posy laughed as he took her case from her, before his comment gave her pause. ‘You actually looked up that statistic?’

Kit shrugged. ‘It can get boring waiting around on set. Come on.’

He strode ahead to catch up with Duncan, dragging both their cabin-size cases behind him and leaving Posy only with her carry-on bag, and a lot of thoughts.

Was he sitting on set thinking about proposing or breaking up?

She shook the thought away. They were in Scotland for Libby’s wedding, not for her to angst about her own relationship. Besides, she and Kit were finally in a good place, helped by both of them being based in the same country for at least one of the last three months. In the new year, they’d begin filming on the second Dahlia Lively movie, and have even more time together. Things were great.

She did not need new things to worry about this weekend. From the way Duncan described it, the possibly disastrous wedding would give them plenty of those.

‘It’s weird being back here, isn’t it?’ Kit said, as they lingered in the hallway. It seemed like Christmas had exploded in there, with lights and greenery everywhere. ‘It doesn’t feel like the same place without all the crew and cast bustling about.’

‘And the trailers ruining our lawns.’ A broad, smiling man with sandy hair approached them with wide open arms. ‘If it isn’t my two famous film stars back to visit us.’

‘Bill!’ Posy beamed back at Duncan’s step-father as she moved in for a hug. Everyone on the set of The Lady Detective had quickly learned that Bill gave the best hugs – the sort she imagined kindly grandfathers from Christmas movies gave when they were pretending to be Santa Claus. The resemblance to Father Christmas ended there, though. Bill’s thinning hair was short and blond, he was always clean shaven, and despite his breadth of shoulders and barrel chest, he was in good shape for a man in his sixties.

Nora might have kept her distance from the filming, but Bill had thrown himself into it, eager to be a part of everything. He’d even had a very small cameo in one of the scenes, if Posy remembered correctly.

When Posy pulled away, Bill shook Kit’s hand vigorously. ‘It’s so good to have you both back here for the wedding. I know Libby was thrilled that you could come early. We all were.’

‘We’re thrilled to be here,’ Kit replied, while Posy wondered how Libby was really adjusting to being a part of the Alexander family, when the only family of her own she had to muster for her side of the chapel were the Dahlias – related by stories, rather than blood.

‘Are these all your bags?’ Bill asked. ‘Or are there more in the car?’

‘This is it,’ Posy replied. ‘We travel light.’

Just then, Duncan reappeared from down a long corridor off the hall, a frown between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there a few moments before. Still, he forced a smile.

‘Libby’s waiting for you both in the turret room, with the others. I just need to grab my laptop from the backseat.’ Duncan yanked open the heavy front door again, letting in a burst of icy air that held a hint of snow – and a woman decked out in heavy fur and a headscarf, using a bone handled walking stick.

‘Well! If it isn’t my favourite godson.’ She placed a loud kiss on both of Duncan’s cheeks, leaving a smear of russet red lipstick behind. ‘You must have sensed my presence. Or, I suppose, heard my car.’

‘I’m attuned to you, Margot, always have been.’ Duncan rubbed at his cheek, making the lipstick smear even worse, but at least he seemed to have some of his good mood back. ‘Shall I get your bags for you?’

‘Margot does not travel light,’ Bill added, in sotto voce.

‘I heard that.’ Margot’s heeled boots and cane clicked on the stone floors as she crossed the hallway to greet Bill, too. Her two air kisses didn’t leave lipstick on his cheeks, though, Posy noticed. ‘Now, who are these two? No, let me guess. You’re obviously not one of the family, are you?’ She gestured towards Kit as she spoke, and Posy felt him tense beside her at the reference to his skin colour. Then Margot continued, ‘Far too handsome,’ and some of the tension dissipated.

Duncan’s godmother turned her attention to Posy. ‘And you . . . I recognise you.’

‘This is Posy Starling and Kit Lewis,’ Bill said, before Margot could get any further – or dig herself any deeper. ‘They’re Libby’s friends – family, really.’

‘Well, which are they?’ Margot asked, irritably. ‘Friends or family? God knows, they can’t be both.’

‘Libby doesn’t have any real family left, Margot.’ Duncan had reappeared, loaded down with an old-fashioned leather suitcase, a suit carrier and a vanity case. ‘She’s asked Posy and Kit – along with a few other friends – to stand with her this weekend in their place.’

‘Well, I suppose that makes sense.’ Margot didn’t look entirely convinced, however. ‘Now, on to things that really matter – where’s the party?’

‘Just a quiet dinner tonight, I believe,’ Bill said, cheerily. ‘Plenty of time for partying over the next few days. Perhaps Duncan can show you up to your room?’

Margot harrumphed at that. ‘As if I don’t know where my room is after all these years. He can carry the bags, though. What else are godsons for?’

And with that, she was off, up the curving staircase to the balcony above – pausing to comment on the fact that the branches of the Christmas tree were still bare so close to 25 December – and ignoring the explosion of decorations on every other surface. She was still talking as they disappeared from sight into the accommodation part of the main castle building.

Bill let out a heartfelt breath. ‘Right. Let’s get you two over to your friends, shall we? I know they’ll be just as eager to see you as I am. It’s probably about time for a pre-dinner cocktail . . . oh, and we should fill you in on this morning’s unhappy awakening. Just in case the police come back tomorrow with more questions.’

He started off down a long passageway with lots of darkened windows. Posy and Kit exchanged a look, and then followed.

Whatever the police were doing at Dunwick Castle, Posy was sure that Rosalind and Caro would already be all over it.

Rosalind

Posy and Kit were the last to arrive, even given Caro and Annie’s detour to every restaurant and pub in Scotland on their way. Rosalind stayed seated as the traditional hugs and air kisses were given. It had only been a few weeks or so since they’d all seen each other last, but Christmas always seemed to call for more enthusiastic greetings, for some reason.

Even Libby and Duncan, who’d seen each other the previous day, had made a big fuss about being together again when he’d dashed in to tell them he’d returned – and brought Kit and Posy with him. Rosalind had managed to dampen that ardour slightly by telling him about the dead body on his property, which had caused Jack to give her one of his looks. She’d ignored it. It was possible she wasn’t in the most romantic mood ever today.

Once the welcomes were over, Annie made a move towards the door. ‘Why don’t Jack, Kit and I take our bags up to our rooms and get us all settled? I don’t know about you gents, but I’d like to freshen up a little before dinner.’

What she really meant, Rosalind knew, was that it was time for them to leave the Dahlias to talk to Libby about whatever was bothering her. Annie was a perceptive woman, and a kind one, and she knew when to give people some space and how to read the things they weren’t saying. Rosalind imagined it was how she’d managed to live with Caro for so long.

Kit merely smiled, pressed a kiss to the side of Posy’s head, and picked up their bags again. Jack looked briefly confused, but at a nod from Rosalind selected one last mince pie – this visit was going to be hell on his waistline – and slipped it into his pocket wrapped in a napkin before fetching their own bags from where they stood by the window.

‘I’ll show you all where you’re staying,’ Bill said, jovially. ‘Follow me!’

Rosalind didn’t like to admit the slight relief she felt, watching them go. When she’d promised Jack an answer to his question by Christmas, 25 December had seemed such a long way away. Now, it loomed over her ominously.

She needed a distraction. A dead body on the beach was as good a one as any – especially if it had anything to do with Libby’s pre-wedding uncertainties.

The three Dahlias waited in silence until the door closed behind the others, then all turned to Libby as one.

‘Right then,’ Caro said. ‘We’re all here. Tell us what’s been going on.’

‘Including everything you know about the dead body on the beach this morning,’ Rosalind added.

Posy’s eyebrows rose. ‘There’s a dead body?’

Of course they’d managed to miss that too. God knew when Kit was around it was impossible to get Posy to pay attention to anything else. But that was young love for you. All-encompassing and totally distracting.

It took annoyingly little time to bring her up to speed, though. Annoying, because it meant they didn’t know anything.

‘It sounds like a tragic accident,’ Posy said, confused. ‘Did the police suggest there was anything suspicious about it?’

‘If they did, Jack didn’t tell me that part,’ Rosalind admitted. ‘And it’s entirely possible he kept it back on purpose. He’s determined for this trip to be about romance not murder.’

Caro looked sympathetic at that, while Posy just ducked her head – but not before Rosalind saw her smile. Traitor.

‘It probably was an accident,’ Libby agreed. ‘I just . . . I can’t figure out why anyone would be out on the loch at this time of year. It’s freezing out there, the winds are bitter and high, and some of the smaller inlets are even frozen. It’s hardly pleasure trip weather.’

‘You think the man was trying to row to here?’ Posy asked. ‘Why?’

Libby shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But I can’t think why else he would be on the water. The tall gates on the bridge are locked at night, you see, so you have to come by boat after that, or before they’re opened.’

‘Or if you don’t want to be seen,’ Caro observed. ‘If you were meeting someone, for instance.’

‘What else is on the loch? Is there anywhere else they might have been going?’ Rosalind tried to picture it in her mind. ‘What about the big house on the other side?’

‘Kinley House? The Blackwells’ home?’ Libby considered it. ‘I suppose so. But it would be much easier to reach it by land; I can’t think why you’d need to take a boat to go there.’

‘Oh, we met the Kinleys! Keri and Georgie, I mean. They were in the bar of the hotel we stopped at on our way,’ Caro said.

‘On your magical mystery tour of the Highlands,’ Rosalind commented. ‘Of course.’

‘I don’t think the dead man can have anything to do with . . . the things I wrote to you about, though,’ Libby said. ‘But as pre-wedding omens go, I have to admit it wasn’t great.’

Rosalind wasn’t a big believer in omens, but she agreed that a dead body was never really a good one.

‘The things you wrote about . . .’ Caro was using her tactful voice, which usually meant she was about to be anything but. ‘You didn’t actually say what’s been going on here, you realise? So . . . tell us now?’

Caro was right. Whatever was going on with Libby might not be as distracting as a dead body, but it was the reason they’d all come up to Scotland early.

Libby looked down at her hands, at the plate where she was slowly shredding the crust of a mince pie with slightly shaky fingers. The fire crackled in the grate, loud in the silence, as they all waited for her answer.

‘Right. Yes. Okay.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘So, we moved back here in the autumn, after the engagement. Duncan . . . he’d been working in London as a project manager for a friend’s company, but he wasn’t enjoying it, not really. He wanted to be working on something that really mattered to him, so he decided it was time to move home and become laird.’

‘I thought he already was the laird,’ Caro said. ‘Isn’t it just a title?’

‘Technically, yes. He became laird when his father died, but he was only twenty-one when that happened. The way he tells it, his mother sat him down with his two godparents and they all told him his father would want him to live his life, not lock himself away in this castle before he’d ever see anything of the world. It would be here waiting for him when he was ready.’

‘We met his godmother, Margot, on our way in,’ Posy said, drily. ‘I can see how she would be persuasive.’

Rosalind supposed she’d get the pleasure of Margot later. She did always enjoy meeting the sort of people her father would have described as ‘a real character’ – they were so useful for acting inspiration. Mostly for those characters the audience loved to hate.

‘Bill was actually Duncan’s godfather before he became his step-father,’ Libby went on. ‘They were always close – Duncan’s parents, Margot and Bill. Apparently no one was very surprised when Bill and Nora got married a few years after Lachlan’s death.’

‘So Bill and Nora managed things here while Duncan was gone?’ Rosalind asked. ‘In exchange for living here and enjoying the estate and its profits, I assume.’

Libby nodded. ‘I think so. I know Anton and the location team dealt with Bill when we were filming here. Duncan . . . he was only supposed to be up here visiting for a weekend, but then he, well, stayed for a while.’

‘I cannot imagine why.’ Caro gave a wicked smile and gestured towards Libby’s imposing engagement ring. ‘It all worked out, anyway. So, go on. What is it? Wicked mother-in-law-to-be? Servants causing mischief? Little sister playing practical jokes? Duncan does have a little sister, doesn’t he? I’m sure Nora mentioned her.’

‘Fiona, yes. But she’s a bit past the practical jokes stage – she’s twenty-five,’ Libby said. ‘And it’s nothing like that.’ Twenty-five was still quite the age gap, Rosalind realised. Libby would turn forty next year, and Duncan could only be a few years younger. Fiona must have been a surprise late baby.

‘Ghosts, then,’ Caro said, promptly. ‘Place like this, it has to be ghosts.’

Libby paled a little further. ‘Well, there are stories. But honestly, I’m more afraid of humans than spectres.’

‘Afraid how?’ Posy asked, sharply. Rosalind knew what she was really asking. Duncan seemed charming, and utterly besotted with Libby. But they all knew how men could change in private, or once they had a ring in place.

But Libby shook her head. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking. Duncan has been brilliant,’ she said, answering the unasked question. ‘And the family . . . I think they’re genuinely trying to make me feel welcome.’

‘So what is it?’ Rosalind asked. Because Libby’s note with her invitation had sounded like a woman afraid. Rosalind had called her straight after receiving it and been fobbed off with fake cheer and talk of feeling homesick and dramatic when she wrote it. From talking to the others, Caro and Posy had received a similar response to their messages.

Now they were here, however, and could see how gaunt Libby was looking, how tired, they weren’t going to buy those excuses any longer.

‘If you need to get out of here, out of this wedding, we will get you out.’ Posy’s voice was low but fierce as she leaned closer to take Libby’s hands in her own. ‘Just give us the word.’

‘No. I want to marry Duncan.’ It was the only thing Libby had sounded certain about since they arrived. ‘But . . . after what happened yesterday, I don’t think I’m imagining what’s going on around here, and I’d like to see what you three think, too. Because if there is something wrong around here, you’re the only people I trust to root it out and fix it.’

The vote of confidence was nice, but Rosalind wasn’t sure it made her feel any better about the situation. ‘So, what is it? What happened yesterday?’

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