“Nothing’s missing,” Maggie reported.

“Nothing of mine either.” Gran’ said. “I never thought I’d be disappointed not to be robbed.”

“So all they wanted was Beverly Clabber’s things. How did they even know I had them? Or that she had them?”

“I think if we knew that, we’d know who killed the poor woman. By the way, hiding the copies in that ‘Receipts’ folder was very clever of you. At least you still have something to work from.”

“To be honest,” Maggie confessed, “I didn’t do it on purpose. I just grabbed the nearest empty folder.”

“My dear, learn to take a compliment.” Gran’ stood and stretched. “I’m going back to bed.”

Maggie stared at her grandmother. “You can sleep now?”

“Well, I don’t see any use in the alternative. I’d much rather be killed in my sleep than lie awake waiting for it.”

“Gran’, that’s so brutal.”

“I prefer to think of it as practical. Good-night.” Gran’ walked to her room but stopped in the doorway. “Although do throw the deadbolt tonight for a bit of extra insurance.”

Gran’ disappeared into her room and Maggie stared at the mess on the floor. No ring or brochures magically materialized, so she put everything back in the drawer, which she then maneuvered into place. The only item she kept out was the folder with the copies.

She got up, threw the deadbolt, then returned to the desk and turned on the desk lamp. Unlike Gran’, there was no way she could sleep. Instead, she pulled out the copy of the McDonough Castle brochure and powered up her tablet. An Internet search yielded the website for the castle, and Maggie studied it carefully. The “About” tab took her to a chatty page that shared the castle’s history as the ancestral home of the Murrays, Scottish-landed gentries who could trace their peerage back to the late seventeenth century. The eldest Murray laid claim to the title Duke of Dundess.

At the bottom of the page was a crest, and under that a monogram. Maggie pulled out the copy of Beverly’s ring; the florid script on it was an exact match to the McDonough Castle monogram’s calligraphy. Clearly, Beverly had some connection to the place. Was she just a McDonough Castle fangirl? Maggie knew the obsessive love people developed for a certain part of the world. The Cuties were the perfect case in point. Maybe Beverly was a British Castle Cutie. If Maggie was going to discover whatever it was that motivated Beverly to ape the monogram’s calligraphy, she needed to learn more about the castle, which meant going beyond the first page of the search.

But first, she stared at the crest. She could swear she’d seen it before but couldn’t place where. She closed her eyes, took some meditative breaths, and tried clearing her mind.

*

The next thing Maggie knew, sunshine was streaming through the windows and Gran’ was gently shaking her. “Wake up, darlin’. You fell asleep right on top of your computer.”

Maggie roused herself and looked at the computer screen. Her castle search was gone, replaced by gobbledygook. At some point, she must have passed out with her head resting on the keyboard and hit a bunch of keys.

“Jan is back,” Gran’ said as she adjusted the tie on her bathrobe. “The police can’t charge her with anything until they get the results from the DNA test. Heavens, listen to me. In my life, I never thought I’d sound like some character from a TV police show. Back to business; the Cuties are staying here with her, but our other guests are preparing to check out.”

“No,” Maggie said, frowning. “I need more time.”

Gran’ went into her room to dress for the day and Maggie retyped her Internet search, this time listing it as “information on McDonough Castle and Cobs Manor.” On the second page, she found the connection between the two historic sites featured on Beverly’s brochures. Cobs Manor was also an ancestral home of the Murrays, sort of a summer place.

She canceled her search and entered “Duke of Dundess—McDonough Hall.” An obituary for Hamish Murray, a.k.a. Lord Livingston, Duke of Dundess, filled her screen. A solitary sort, he had passed away only a few months ago at the age of ninety-two, survived by no one. She entered another search specifically for the late duke, and a brief article from one of Scotland’s leading newspapers, The Herald, popped up. It was titled “American Royalty?” and explained that because Hamish left no heirs in the British Isles, his attorneys had to cast a wide net. They managed to track down a very distant relative in the United States, guaranteeing that the dukedom wouldn’t go extinct.

Maggie sat back and digested this information. Was horrible Hal Clabber slated to be the next Duke of Dundess? She had read enough Jane Austen to know that inherited titles only passed to sons, not daughters—at least in the nineteenth century. Maybe things had changed in the last two hundred years. She searched “inherited peerages” and was disappointed to see a long list of articles about an ongoing battle in Britain to allow daughters to inherit when no son was in the picture. Apparently, things hadn’t changed, which pointed to Hal Clabber, which made no sense since he had died of natural causes while his wife was the murder victim.

Maggie groaned. Then a sentence under the title of one article caught her eye: “Most Scottish peerages, like the ancient English baronies, allow the peerage to pass to the ‘heirs general,’ so females can inherit them.”

“Oh my God,” she said. It was all starting to make sense.

Gran’ came out of her bedroom, dressed in a pale blue linen sheath with matching sandals. “I heard that,” she said. “Are you onto something?”

“I think so.” Maggie filled Gran’ in on what she’d learned so far. “What if Beverly, not Hal, was next of kin to Hamish Murray?”

“That would certainly explain the signet ring. Beverly Clabber, Duchess of Dundess. It would also explain why she bragged to Yvonne about having something to lord over me. At the end of my time on this earth, I will have been many things, but a duchess is not one of them.”

“What it doesn’t explain is why she was murdered.”

“Well, why do people kill?” Gran’ mused. “There’s jealousy. And please rule me out on that score. Then there’s money. Lots of people kill for that. I adored your grandfather, but believe me, there was the occasional time when I understood why someone would do in their spouse for the insurance payout.”

“Gran’!” Maggie admonished.

“I’m sorry, but the man did have his days.”

Maggie picked up where Gran’ had left off. “There’s fear, there’s feeling threatened. There’s revenge. And then there are sickos who just kill for fun.”

“My goodness, there are so many reasons to murder that it’s a wonder any of us live to see another day.”

Maggie tabbed back to the McDonough Castle homepage and stared at it. “I know I’ve seen that crest before. This is making me nuts.”

“You know what you need to do, dear.”

“Yes.” Maggie repeated by rote, “Clear my mind and give space for the answer.”

“Exactly. I’ll see you at breakfast. I believe we’re having pecan pancakes. At least Mr. Clabber isn’t around to complain that we’re predictable.” With that, Gran’ sauntered out.

As soon as she was gone, Maggie closed her eyes and willed her mind to sift through its memories. Pictures floated through her recollections, some lovely, some not. While she quickly shook off the image of Debbie’s lifeless body, she was tempted to linger at the memory of Bo’s kindness during her dark moments the night before. Instead, she concentrated all her energy on the image of the crest. And suddenly she remembered. She knew where she’d seen it. Then she finally landed on the significant snippet of conversation from the Clabbers’ funeral.

One by one, images clicked into place until they formed a clear picture of Beverly Clabber and Debbie Stern’s murderer.