“Well, the back door was unlocked”—he catches sight of my expression and hurries on—“but that’s hardly the point. You’re right, there’s no excuse. There is an explanation, though, if you’re willing to hear it?” He looks up at me beseechingly. “Or would you rather beat me senseless with that umbrella you’re hiding? I have to admit, it’s way more threatening than the toilet roll you were carrying before . . .” He quirks his eyebrows upward, inviting me to join him in his humor. He’s a charming man, this non-burglar before me. On another day, in another place, I might briefly enjoy allowing myself to be beguiled, but this is not that day or place. My face remains stony. “Look,” he tries again, dropping back to earnest mode. “The thing is . . . we just live across the field there”—he gestures vaguely—“and I was looking for my sister. Fi. Fi McCue. You havenae seen her? She’s about your height, brown hair, two years older than me.”

It’s my turn to be nonplussed. “Why on earth would your sister be here?”

“Because sometimes she comes here. Obviously not when anyone’s renting it, you ken. She’s . . . Look, ask anyone, she’s completely harmless, she’s a sweetheart, but she’s . . .” He spreads his hands. “She’s a wee bit . . . different. Not a tinnie short of a six-pack exactly but . . . a wee bit away wi’ the fairies. I couldnae find her, and I thought she might be here. I didnae realize the house was occupied.”

“She comes here?” I feel queasy at the very thought. What kind of person goes wandering through empty houses? And why?

“She has a thing about this place.” He looks around the kitchen and then back at me. “The Manse. Always has. Sometimes I find her here. Usually in the big bedroom upstairs.” I don’t know what expression crosses my face, but he starts shaking his head. “No, Christ, no, nothing like that; I think she just likes the view. Look, everyone round here will tell you, she really is harmless. Ask anybody. Everyone knows her and everyone looks out for her; you’ll nae hear a bad word about her. Really.”

“How does she get in?”

“The back door doesn’t lock properly.” His expression turns earnest. “You know, you should get that fixed.”