To Scotland With Love by Patience Griffin

You a Merry Christmas.”
    Cait couldn’t help but smile as they slipped along the boardwalk. It’d been a nice Christmas party. And in the last couple of hours, no one had died within Cait’s immediate vicinity. Old Man Death must be taking a snooze.
    When they got to Deydie’s house, Cait planned to drop her grandmother off, then go up to Graham’s place and start snooping.
    But Deydie had different plans. “I expect ye’ll be staying.” She flipped up the quilts on her bed and pulled out a full-sized trundle. “But first we’ll be having ourselves a wee bit of a nightcap.”
    Cait felt completely confused. Earlier this evening, Deydie had been as disagreeable as a rabid dog, and now she was as playful as a puppy, whistling and clogging to her own tunes. And what about the story Cait was working on? What about combing Graham’s house for tidbits and essentials?
    The promise Cait had made to herself earlier, the one where she’d vowed to spend every spare moment withDeydie, felt pretty damn burdensome right now. But it did have her answering her gran. “Of course I’ll be staying.”
    â€œGood. Then get on to making that nightcap.” Deydie went to her rocking chair and creaked back and forth, singing quietly “What Child Is This?” and looking younger and happier than Cait had ever seen her.

Chapter Eight
    W hen Cait woke the next morning, Deydie’s bed lay empty and she was nowhere in sight. For a moment, Cait worried her gran had wandered off in the night but then remembered Deydie had duties at Graham’s house.
    Cait quickly made the trundle bed, sparing a moment to admire the workmanship of the counterpane—a Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt, all hand sewn, using 1930s-vintage fabrics. She slid the trundle back under the bed, deciding to make tea in the pub’s kitchen because she needed some things from her room.
    When she stepped outside the cottage, she was unprepared for the snow that had fallen by the shovelfuls during the night. She fretted over Deydie coming back down the bluff but saw that the pathway leading up to Graham’s had been cleared and salted. But no one had cleared the walkway back toward the center of town, and for Cait, it was slow going. Before entering the pub, she kicked as much snow from her boots as she could. She went directly into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. A small flat-screen TV hung near the chopping table. Cait turned it on.
    And there was Graham, a media storm over his arrival in London. Even though he smiled graciously, a darkness in his eyes told her he was pissed, close to murdering whoever had ratted him out. Good thing he didn’t know she was a journalist, else he might put her on the chopping block when he returned.
    Cait filled a mug with the boiling water and dropped in a tea bag.
    â€œGraham Buchanan arriving on the scene after a two-month disappearance. Might I have a word, sir?”
The reporter pressed a microphone in Graham’s face.
    â€œI’m here to do a public-service announcement for the RSPCA, who are working on the Five Freedoms for animals through legislation,”
Graham said.
    If she were the reporter, her next question would be to ask what prompted this public-service announcement. And why now.
    The one-track-minded reporter tried again.
“Yes, but where have you been? Your agent had no comment as to your whereabouts.”
    â€œSorry, mates. This is my stop.”
Graham disappeared into the RSPCA building.
    Cait lifted a mug to Graham. “Nicely sidestepped.” Then she felt guilty for what she planned to do to Gandiegow’s superstar. It would definitely knock the air from Graham’s sails when he found out she was writing a piece on him. He’d never trust her again. Their comfortable friendship would be dead.
    But Cait had to take care of getting her life back on course first and squashed any doubts she had