When Kath hadn’t been home, she’d decided to take the path through the woods to the Party House to take photographs of the covered grave for her article. She’d been careful about the women clustered at the lochside, but they’d all been too busy drinking, talking and laughing to notice her.

Then Aidan had appeared from nowhere and called out her name. She’d initially contemplated fleeing into the woods, but realized he would more than likely follow.

By the time he approached, she’d decided to reveal herself properly and was already formulating her story. Was it safe to say she was staying at Greg’s or should she say she was staying in the village?

God, what if he told him where she was? Were they even in touch? Her heart had taken off like a rocket at that point as she’d tried to assume a surprised and slightly embarrassed expression.

‘Well I never, Maya, what are you doing here?’ had been his response to her emergence from the trees.

His use of her writing name had helped make up her mind. There was no way she could reveal she was staying at Greg’s after that.

‘Having a few days walking in the Highlands now that we’re allowed to travel here again,’ had been her response.

‘So why here exactly?’ Aidan had been wearing a look which was both friendly and menacing at the same time. So much so that a shiver had gone down her spine.

She’d shrugged, then given him a partially honest answer. ‘The village had a rough time during the pandemic. I wanted to see how it was now.’

‘So why are you skulking in my woods?’

‘I heard about the body being unearthed and came for a look,’ was her honest response.

He’d looked animated by that. ‘Yes, it has been rather fun having a murder mystery on our doorstep.’

She’d hoped to make her getaway then, but that was not to be, as he’d insisted she come and meet the women, who were all staring in her direction.

‘Ladies, this is Maya Villan, the writer,’ he’d announced.

One immediately trilled at that. ‘OH MY GOD, I love your blog, but you never post a photograph so I had no idea what you looked like.’

‘Why are you here?’ they demanded in chorus.

‘To hear all about our murder mystery,’ Aidan informed them.

Realizing there was nothing to do but sit it out, she’d gladly accepted the proffered glass of champagne and resigned herself.

Once the women had regaled her with their version of the story, which had sounded more like a Hercule Poirot country house mystery, she’d eventually said she had to be getting back.

‘I can run you down to the village if you like?’ Aidan promptly offered.

She’d refused, of course, and not just because she was aware he too had been drinking.