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    Andrew said, ‘Martyne has been talking to some of the villagers about how Alys came to die. The fact that she was in the belfry of the church has put him off the scent, but a discovery when he’s out walking one day gives him his first real clue.
    ‘ The path through the woods was dank. Syme, his dog, felt the glumness of the place and trotted dolefully by his side, tail down, head drooping. The sheep he was searching for must have come this way, Martyne thought, spying a wisp of wool snagged on a low clump of bog myrtle. He stopped. Bog myrtle? Here? He’d never seen it growing deep in the woods. Surely the soil was all wrong. Syme sniffed at the plant with interest as Martyne squatted down to examine it. As he thought. It was not bog myrtle at all, it was dwale. And there were signs that someone had been disturbing the soil around the base of the plant in recent months. It was possible – nay, likely – that someone had even set the shrub to grow here, in this secret place, to avoid its detection. ’
    Someone behind Kate called, ‘Dwale? Is that a made up name?’
    The voice sounded familiar. She peered over her shoulder. It was Ibsen Brown, her acquaintance from the top of Summerfield Law, his blue eyes brilliant under the artificial light, his long hair again pulled tightly back from his face.
    ‘No. It’s the Anglo Saxon word for something we know by a completely different name, deadly nightshade, or belladonna. There is quite an Anglo Saxon influence in southern parts of Scotland, so it’s not unlikely that Martyne would have known it by this common name.’
    ‘And calling it dwale keeps the secret from the reader just a little longer,’ Ibsen grinned.
    Kate turned back to the stage, smiling. He’d put his finger on Andrew’s technique precisely.
    ‘Exactly. And now I’ve let the cat out of the bag. But,’ he snapped the book shut and held it up, cover side to the audience, ‘there are plenty more cats in here, and a few bags too, and if you want to know any more, can I suggest you buy the book?’
    As the applause started, Kate tossed her notebook into her handbag and stood up. ‘I’ve got to go. Sorry.’
    Harry said, ‘Not going for dinner?’
    ‘I’m sorry, but it’s impossible tonight. I’ve a really unfortunate diary clash. I’m giving a speech—’
     She had to go but with her stepson’s gaze on her she put the moment off.
    Andrew appeared by her side, looking pleased with himself. ‘Well? What did you think? That go well?’
    ‘Brilliant, Dad.’
    ‘Loved it. Another triumph.’
    ‘Are we all set for dinner?’
    ‘Kate’s got to rush off,’ Harry said.
    She looked apologetically at Andrew. ‘Sorry, love. I forgot to tell you.’ Guilt pressed down on her but she pushed back at it by remembering how she’d rushed home early to change so that she could be here at all, and that she hadn’t eaten and would miss dinner at both functions. She was about to point this out to him so that he could appreciate the lengths she’d gone to but she knew that was just defensiveness. If necessary she could explain later.
    Harry said, ‘Actually, we won’t be able to make it this time ourselves. Jane’s flying down to London in the morning and she’s got to get up at four. In fact, we’d better head off soon too.’
    So Harry couldn’t go either! Kate pursed her lips in annoyance. How dare he be so critical of her when he was ducking out himself?
    Andrew’s face grew longer. A family dinner after the local launch was all part of the ritual. He turned to Ninian. ‘Looks like it’ll be you and me then, Ninian.’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘I can come.’ Sophie MacAteer had been standing on the fringes of the family group, Kate realised, hanging on like a limpet. ‘I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere tonight.’
    ‘Just the three of us then.’
    Ninian scowled. He scuffed one toe against the floor, kicking at some imaginary spot. ‘Actually, I’ve just remembered, I told