Death of an Adept

Philippa clucked her tongue. "Adam, Adam - getting married ought to be one of life's most memorable experiences, not only for the bride and groom, but also for those who are closest to them," she pointed out. "You needn't make any decisions just yet, but speaking as the most senior surviving member of the Sinclair family, I would like to see you celebrate the event in a style worthy of your station and equal to a mother's fondest ambitions."

This declaration earned her a chuckle from her son's end of the line.

"I see what you're getting at," he said. "Did you think I'd make Ximena settle for a registry office wedding?"

"Well, hardly that. You did mention having Christopher preside, and he'll insist on bells and smells, even if you'd prefer to run away to Gretna Green. Just remember that most little girls dream of a fairy-tale wedding to a handsome prince. If that's Ximena's dream, you wouldn't want to deprive her of it."

"It's my fondest wish never to deprive her of anything," Adam replied with a chuckle, "but I'm afraid she will have to settle for a baronet rather than a prince. But never fear: Ximena deserves nothing but the best - and whether she knows it or not, I intend to see that our 'official' wedding is no exception. Since we've got to go through the forms a second time in any case, we might as well make the most of the occasion."

"Then, there will be a splendid party! Excellent!" Philippa exclaimed. "I shall look forward to helping the two of you plan the details. Incidentally, have you given any thought to a ring?"

"Not yet," Adam admitted.

"Then don't," Philippa said. "Unless, of course, you think Ximena would be averse to wearing the sapphire that belonged to my mother."

"The Rhodes sapphire?" Adam was obviously taken with the idea. "Mother, you have me at a loss for words. Thank you. I'll ask her, but I imagine she'd be delighted to wear it."

"Then I'll be sure to bring it with me," Philippa said crisply. "Being a surgeon, she'll probably want a plain gold band to go with it, but we can sort that out later. At least you've left me twenty-four hours' grace to get it out of the safe deposit box."

"I gather this means you approve of the match," Adam said wryly.

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Philippa countered, and smiled to herself. "If your stars have been slow on the ascendant, my dear, their impending conjunction presages as bright a future as any two people could ever wish for."

Chapter Eight

THE Lothian and Borders branch of the Scottish police had its Edinburgh headquarters in a large office block on Fet-tes Avenue. Despite the seasonal garnishes of tinsel and holly scattered throughout the building, Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod was not in a particularly festive mood, thanks to an eight-hour shift spent trying to reduce an accumulated backlog of paperwork. He had nearly cleared his desk and was thinking fondly of going home when there was a sudden, unwelcome knock at his office door. Stifling an inward groan of misgiving, he barked, "Come!"

The door opened, admitting Sergeant Donald Cochrane, one of McLeod's most promising investigative aides. The younger man was brandishing a piece of fax flimsy in one hand.

"Glad I caught you before you left, sir," he said. "You remember that tarted-up pink piano that went missing last week?"

Cochrane's expression indicated that he might just have found it.

"Aye," McLeod said apprehensively.

"Well, I've just taken a call from Sergeant McGuinness over in North Berwick. He thinks he's found it."

"He thinks'?' McLeod muttered testily. "Hell's teeth, Donald, there couldn't be two like that! Where is the damned thing?"

"The van turned up in a derelict warehouse," Cochrane said. "A watchman stumbled on it more or less by accident, and notified the police. When they went to check it out, they found the piano in the back. McGuinness just faxed through the report."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, McLeod put out his hand.

"I know - crime of the century," Cochrane said, as McLeod skimmed the details. "But McGuinness thinks it might tie in with some heavy-duty burglaries in another part of his patch, and he and his lads have locked down the warehouse until the lab can get someone over there to dust for prints. I can handle it, if you want to get on home," he added, noting his superior's sour grimace.

Shaking his head, McLeod rose and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair.

"No, I'll go. I've been cooped up here all day. Besides, you have a pretty young wife at home, and a baby daughter about to experience her first Christmas. You shouldn't miss that."

"You're sure?"