Death of an Adept

Already alerted by the tone of Julian's invitation, she was not surprised to find Peregrine Lovat's familiar green Morris Minor parked at the curb a few yards down from the front gate of Bonnybank House. Nor was she surprised, upon being shown into Julian's cozy sitting room, to discover that Noel McLeod and Father Christopher Houston had been included in the invitation.

"How wonderful to see you all!" she exclaimed, as she exchanged hugs all around. "A belated happy Christmas to you. I can't tell you how good it is to be back, and with such news!"

Initial conversation revolved entirely around the subject of Adam's marriage, as Julian presided over a silver tea service and Peregrine helped distribute plates of cakes and scones. Prompted by their eager questions, Philippa took the opportunity to furnish the other members of the Hunting Lodge with a full report of the wedding at the hospital.

"It was so moving, on so many levels," she finished wistfully. "The timing of Alan's passing was a little difficult, of course, but I think it was a relatively easy transition for him, especially after being in so much pain for so long. I know it meant a lot to him to see Ximena married; and the people he loved most were there with him, at the end. Adam had done an incredible job of preparing the way, so there was no question that everyone was ready to let Alan go."

Julian dashed tears from her cheek with the back of one frail hand, and Christopher bowed his head. Philippa sniffled back her own tears and put on a fragile smile.

"In any case," she went on, "I have no doubt that it's a marriage of hearts and souls. Christopher, I'm sure I can trust you to help Adam sort out the appropriate legalities at this end. He's very keen to have you perform the formal ceremony here, and apologizes for jumping the gun without you, as it were. But I see nothing to prevent us from throwing our hearts into a wedding celebration worthy of them both - and a splendid reception at Strathmourne, though it will be difficult to top yours and Julia's, Peregrine."

Though Philippa's shift back to the more pleasurable prospect of Adam's wedding had somewhat banished the sobriety surrounding the account of Alan Lockhart's death, the company's mingled looks of pleasure and uneasiness caused her to set aside her cup and cast her gaze over the lot of them ap-praisingly.

"Very well," she said briskly. "It's clear there's more on the agenda than what happened in San Francisco. But you did indicate that it wasn't urgent, Julian."

"Not - urgent," Julian allowed. "But a bit worrisome, nonetheless." She glanced appraisingly at McLeod. "Noel, perhaps you'd care to do the honors?"

McLeod nodded and set aside his teacup. "Just about a week ago I got a call from a fellow copper up in Stornoway, name of Chisholm. There'd been a ritual bull-slaying up at at the Callanish stone circle, and he wanted to ask my advice."

In as few words as possible he went on to render an account of the investigation.

"Since Adam was off on his first holiday in some time," McLeod concluded, "there didn't seem any point in reporting the incident to him right away - especially when there was nothing any of us could do that couldn't be done equally well by the Island police.

"Since then, however, further information has come to light that suggests the Hunting Lodge ought to become more actively involved in the case. Peregrine and I were just getting ready to leave the crime scene at Callanish when Chisholm got called away to investigate a seemingly unrelated incident - a car gone off the road, with two dead.

"Chisholm got back to me the next day with further details. That was Christmas Eve - which is why this information didn't figure in our decision not to bother you or Adam when we'd evaluated the case the night before. Chisholm had assumed, as did the first officers on the scene, that the incident was drink-related. Empty whisky bottles were found in the wreckage of the car with the bodies of two dead men, and the medical examiner's report confirmed that both victims had high levels of alcohol in their blood.

"Problem is that Chisholm knows most of the regulars on the island, and the driver was practically a teetotaller - name of Macaulay. The barman at his local had never served him anything stronger than a shandy, and then never more than one. Chisholm checked with the victim's GP, who confirmed that Macaulay had a chronic liver ailment that effectively deterred him from heavy drinking."

"A holiday lapse?" Christopher queried.