Chapter Eight
Aileen rubbed her tired eyes. It had been a stressful day. The sullen atmosphere at the inn had turned almost macabre when a red-eyed Martha Smith had made an appearance in the evening.
On Samantha Grant’s insistence, she managed to gulp down some chicken soup. Aileen had been tongue-tied, not knowing what to say, but she thought tomorrow would be far worse: it would have been Dave’s birthday.
When Aileen had asked what they’d like for supper, almost everyone had said they hadn’t the appetite. Legrand retired early, clearly displeased at being told to stay in Loch Fuar till the killer was caught. Apparently, he had urgent business in London.
Business more important than bringing the person responsible for a man’s death to justice? Aileen scoffed. What a piece of work!
Wh
