Perry - Haunted to Death

A Jamie Brodie Mystery

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,places and incidents are either products of the authorsimagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual eventsor persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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2018 Meg Perry. All rights reserved.

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The Jamie Brodie Mysteries

Cited to Death

Hoarded to Death

Burdened to Death

Researched to Death

Encountered to Death

Psyched to Death

Stacked to Death

Stoned to Death

Talked to Death

Avenged to Death

Played to Death

Filmed to Death

Trapped to Death

Promoted to Death

Published to Death

Cloistered to Death

Haunted to Death

Forres, Scotland

October 2017

Adam Grant pushed through the door of the RedLion and scanned the pub until he spotted Scott Fraser in thenext-to-last booth. As he approached, Scott lifted his hand ingreeting. I started wiout ye.

I see that. Adam dropped into the boothacross from Scott and took a sip from the pint that Scott hadordered for him. How are ye?

Fine, and yersel?

No bad. Spent half o the day in meetingsabout the clan gathering.

Have ye heard from the Brodie?

No yet. I did have a bit o informationfrom Mary Carr at the castle, though.

Scott raised his eyebrows at Adam over therim of his pint. Aye, and whas that?

Jamie Brodie is coming for the gathering.Bringing his whole family. Theyve let the castle for a week and ahalf.

Scott grinned. Och, Moirall be pleased tohear that. She and Jamie were thick as thieves by the end o lastsummer.

Mm. Im thinkin young Jamie must have somemoney.

Scott considered that. Aye. Ten days in thecastle, and six weeks in East Lodge last year? No exactly atourist budget.

Nor a librarians salary. Even inCalifornia. Adam shrugged. But he doesna act the part.

Nae. As down to earth as youd want, bothhim and the Ferguson lad.

Scott and Adams conversation moved on tomore detail about the upcoming clan gathering. They finished theirpints and headed out, saying goodbye at the pub entrance.

They didnt notice Calum Gordon, thedisheveled man who slouched out after them, weaving slightly as hewent to his motorbike.

In the recesses of Calum Gordons ale-soakedbrain, an idea was forming.

Late July 2018

Wednesday

I flipped on the blinker of the rentedVauxhall wagon and turned left from the A96 onto the tree-lineddrive. In an identical vehicle behind me, my brother Kevinfollowed. From the back seat of my car, my brother Jeff said, Thisis our land? I mean, not ours

I said, I know what you mean. And, yes, itis. I slowed to allow Jeff and my sister-in-law Valerie to take intheir first view of our ancestral pile.

Brodie Castle.

My immediate family was visiting the UnitedKingdom - specifically, Scotland - for two weeks. Wed landed inGlasgow three days ago. Id stowed the family in a hotel withinwalking distance of everything; theyd seen the sights while I metwith several of my friend Fiona Mackenzies relatives, interviewingthem for the new book I was writing. Now we were scheduled to stayfor a week and a half here, on the opposite side of Scotland, inthe Lairds Apartments of Brodie Castle. The castle was currentlyowned by the National Trust. After the last resident laird and hisson had both died in 2003, the living quarters were remodeled intoself-catering accommodations that could sleep fourteen people.

There were eight of us. Wed have plenty ofroom.

I pulled to the side of the drive, and weclambered out of the cars. Val said, Dave, Jeff, Kev, Jamie, lineup here. I want pictures.

We lined up in chronological order. My dad,Dave Brodie, retired Marine; my oldest brother, Jeff, aveterinarian; my middle brother, Kevin, a cop; and me, an academiclibrarian.

As we posed - Val kept moving around, takingphotos from different angles - I studied our significant others.Jeffs wife Valerie, the stereotypical farm girl. Kristen Beach,sleek and stylish; Kevins wife for nine months, my fellowlibrarian at UCLA for twelve years. Claudia Stratton, my dads ladyfriend for ten months now, whod fit into our family like a missingpuzzle piece.

And my husband, Pete Ferguson, watching inamusement as we Brodie men followed Vals orders.

Kristen was wandering from the drive towardthe surrounding trees, her head swiveling to and fro as sheattempted to absorb it all. I called to her, Whaddya think?

Its gorgeous. I understand why you love ithere so much.

Pete said, Wait til it rains. You mightchange your mind.

Kristen scoffed. Are you kidding? I spent myfirst ten years of life in Seattle. I adore rain.

Satisfied with her photos of us, Val loweredher phone and gazed around the landscape. Is this farmland asfertile as it appears to be?

I said, I guess. I dont know what they growhere, though, other than grain and livestock.

Dad said, Come on, everyone. Im anxious tosee the inside of this place.

We drove to the public parking lot - thecastle was open to tourists daily in the summer - then followed theunmarked lane that led to the back of the castle, where we foundtwo cars already parked. As we piled from our vehicles, a manemerged from a door in the back wall of the castle. He was probablyaround 70, wearing work pants and a sweater, a flat cap on hishead. He grinned at us crookedly. Youll be the Brodies,then?

My dad said, Thats right. Im Dave Brodie.He held his hand out to the man.

Angus Grant. Angus shook my dads hand.Well be distant cousins.

Its always a pleasure to meet a cousin.These are my sons and their spouses.

Angus nodded to us as a group, either failingto note or failing to care that there werent matching numbers ofmen and women. And a fine-looking lot, they are. Bring your thingsand come with me. Ill guide ye to your rooms.

We gathered our luggage and followed Angusinto the castle. Id seen pictures of the Lairds Apartments, whereNinian Brodie, the grandfather of the current clan chief, had liveduntil his death, but Id never been inside.

The pictures didnt do the place justice.Like the rest of the castle, the accommodations covered threefloors. Immediately inside the door from the parking lot, to theleft, was a tiny bathroom. The hallway leading into the rest of thehouse was lined with pictures of Brodies.

The next door led into an enormous diningroom, with a table that would seat at least 16. Past the diningroom was a landing with a grandfather clock and a spiral stairwellthat twisted up to the top floor. We signed the guest book thenfollowed Angus through the next door into the kitchen. Pete suckedin a breath. Whoa.

The kitchen was huge and fitted with everyappliance one could hope for, including a multi-oven range, andseveral wooden hutches that Val was salivating over. One of themdisplayed a full set of china; others held pots and pans. Afarmhouse sink occupied one corner.

Claudia said, We can cook while were here,right?

I said, Absolutely. Thats the idea ofself-catering.

A small breakfast table stood in the centerof the room. It wasnt large enough to accommodate all of us - butthat long dining room table was just down the hall. Angus opened acloset door. Herell be your laundry facilities.