Fiona speaks from her position in the doorway. “Remember, Carrie is buying sweeties in the shop, Callum—if you want to help her choose, you’d best go now.”

He scrambles off in a shot, then pauses by the door. “I’ll be back,” he promises me. His mum tousles his hair and he races off.

“Do you think it was the carbon monoxide?” I ask Fiona. She shrugs but doesn’t move from the doorway. She’s wearing mascara again, and rather a nice V-neck jumper over her jeans. I think it’s for Carrie. “You can come in, you know,” I say.

“How’s the collarbone?” she asks, pulling a chair across to sit near me.

I grimace. “Remarkably sore.”

“Aye. I’ve broken mine a couple of times, falling off horses. I cannae recommend it.”

“My head is so much clearer, though. I can’t quite believe I didn’t even realize something was wrong.”

“Carrie feels awful that she didnae pick up on it.” She’s looking at the bed, not at me. I don’t know what it is that she’s reluctant to say. There are too many possibilities.

“Can animals detect carbon monoxide?” I press again. “Is that why they wouldn’t come inside before?”

“I dinnae ken. I suppose it’s one theory.”

“What’s yours?”

She meets my eyes calmly. “That the Manse was trying to tell us something.” I wait for more. “We used to be able to walk the dogs through the Manse grounds, when I was much younger. I wonder if that stopped when Jamie started taking your dad’s bones there.” She smiles wryly at something in my face. “But you’ll come to your own conclusions in your own time.” She could tell me more, I think. She’s waiting for the right time. It must be even harder for her to gauge that than for everyone else.

I check that the doorway is clear of listeners. “Are you going to tell Carrie what happened?”

“She knows what happened.” I raise my eyebrows with my best skeptical look. She relents. “All right, she mostly knows. I will tell her one day, I promise. It’s just . . . it would be too much, now. Too much to put on her and the relationship.”

I nod. “She’ll hate that you lied, whatever the reason.”

“She’ll get over it.” Her words are blunt.

“Is that a Fi fact?” I ask lightly, and she shakes her head, smiling, her triangular fan of hair bouncing around her.

“Nope. Just blind faith.”

I hope for both of our sakes that she’s right. “Why did you do it?” I ask hesitantly.

“I didnae have a choice.”

“You did.”

She shakes her head again, her mouth a thin line. “Not once he threatened Callum.”

“Was he . . . right?” I’ve been turning it over in my mind. If he’s not hers, whose is he?