Liza, without really intending to, started running scenarios. The shot had sounded from the grounds, but the grounds were mostly open, which meant that anybody looking out of a window would have seen the shooter unless they’d been deep in the trees or—”The boathouse?”

“It would be out of sight of the hotel.” Sir Richard seemed to be contemplating something. “Worth a try, certainly. Although for the purposes of our bet, I’ll add that this doesn’t count.”

“We don’t have a bet,” Liza protested slightly too quickly. “We’re just both … keeping an eye out for things that might tell us what’s happening.”

The boathouse was a small timber building, somewhat younger than the rest of the hotel, nestled just on the edge of the copse and opening out onto the lake. The party crept towards it, some of the guests at least growing more hesitant as the realisation that they didn’t know what they were going to find grew stronger. Sir Richard had no such problems, strolling with an almost jaunty air towards the loch.

Lady Tabitha was the first to see the body, literally clutching her pearls with shock. The other guests quickly rallied around her, Sir Richard giving her a consoling but utterly mannerly pat on the arm while everybody else tried to take in what they could of the scene.

There on the ground, lying face up with—Liza fancied—a look of shock still burned into his eyes, was Belloc. A ragged bloodstain covered his chest, and beneath him the thin flurry of snow blown in from the loch was staining red.

“Is he—?” asked the professor, turning his face away.

“Yes,” said Hanna with an authority derived from abject panic. “Yes, he fucking is. The fucking detective who was supposed to catch the fucking killer has just been fucking killed.”

“And I suppose he is definitely dead?” asked Lady Tabitha. “Not just … stunned?”

Sir Richard apparently wasn’t in a reassuring mood. “I fear he’s a goner, Auntie.”

While the others were talking, Reverend Lincoln had moved to inspect the body, although Liza noticed he was very careful not to touch it. “Looks like one gunshot to the chest. Probably close range.”

“And recently,” added Sir Richard. “The shot was, what? Five, ten minutes ago?”

Liza stared at Belloc’s corpse. “Long enough to bleed to death.”

“But not long enough that the killer isn’t probably still nearby,” added Hanna, carefully manoeuvring her back to the boathouse.

For a moment, the party let that sink in.

“If we move quickly, we can probably catch them?” Liza suggested, knowing as she said it that it was a really, really bad idea.

Sir Richard grinned. “I’m game if you are. Tracks are faint here but should get better past the tree line.”

This earned a, “No,” from Hanna and an, “Are you certain, dear?” from Aunt Tabitha at the exact same moment.