Carmen looked at the pictures on the piano. His mother had been very beautiful: long dark hair, strong brows, a strong chin, and a little mouth like his. His father was rather fierce-looking, with a big mop of hair and quite a beard. He was actually very attractive, Carmen thought.

“Was your granddad really an explorer?” she said before she realized what she was saying.

He blinked, but then he had to have obviously assumed that most people in Edinburgh would know his family. Sofia had said they were well-known, thought Carmen, relieved that she hadn’t dropped herself in it.

“Well, he went on the Graham Land expedition,” said Mr. McCredie, showing her an old photograph of lots of men grinning cheerfully below the decks of a ship, wine bottles open. “He was really just a boy then, though.”

“That’s amazing,” said Carmen genuinely. “Explorers in the family! I didn’t even realize it was a job. Were you never tempted to head for the snowy wastes?”

Mr. McCredie looked down. “Oh yes. But I’m not sure I’m the type.” He frowned. “Where are those medals? I’m sure he got given one once.”

“It must be worth a lot, surely,” said Carmen.

He looked at her. “I doubt it,” he said. “Nobody cares about these things these days. Unless you were on the expeditions where people died.”

At which Carmen wondered then why it was that he had absolutely no idea where they were and wondered who would care for them after he’d gone.

“Well, I’m here to fetch your Christmas decorations,” she reminded him. “If they’re in the attic, I can probably scout for the medals at the same time.”

Mr. McCredie had picked up one of the pictures of his mother, a studio shot from the 1940s, as she looked on at a three-quarter angle, past the frame, her lovely brows and high cheekbones outlining her face.

“She’s gorgeous,” said Carmen, but he didn’t answer her.

The loft was at the top of the next flight of stairs, up from a landing with several large doors off it—this house was huge. An old ladder racketed down as Mr. McCredie pulled the string. He frowned.

“I don’t know when I was last up here.”

“You don’t get the decorations down every Christmas?”

“I never get them down at all.”

Carmen frowned at this, then, armed with her phone flashlight, ascended into the unknown.

Chapter Thirteen

Carmen could straighten up once she got into the attic. There were little windows poking out, and from the back window there was a superb view over the top of the Grassmarket and toward the hills beyond, which she stared at for quite a while. It was also completely freezing up there, though. A roll of insulation wouldn’t have gone amiss.